The Age of Aquarius
by SFGrl
Summary: A war that nobody wanted changes six lives forever... Some content Rated R {Complete!}
1. Prologue: 1972

_The Setup: 1966. The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam. On the home front, tensions are mounting, as support for the War continues to diminish. President Johnson makes his first trip to South Vietnam, and the Soviet Union announces its intentions to support North Vietnam, arousing anger among war supporters and moderates. _

_As for our favorite sextet, Monica, Rachel and Phoebe are seniors in high school. Ross, Chandler and Joey have just graduated high school (Joey and Chandler went to a different school, though). Rachel and Ross are dating._

**The Age of Aquarius**

_Prologue_

_New York City, 1972 _

The winter wind bit through his thin green jacket fiercely, causing him to involuntarily shiver. The bright lights, rough pavement, and animated streets were foreign to him, even though he'd grown up in it. Five years had changed him more than he wanted to admit---more than it should have. He was 23, going on 45, and he felt the weight of the world on his tired shoulders. No 23-year old should ever have to see what he has seen: to know what he knows. No man should have to stand in the face of danger, and know that it is either _them_ or you.

No man should have to live with the blood of a child on his hands.

Snow began to drift down from the black sky. He felt the light-as-a-feather flakes, and recalled a time when he'd prayed for anything besides Asian rain. After years in the hostile jungles of a country thousands of miles from home from a reality he had built for himself, if only to keep sane---being back in New York City felt wrong, somehow. He looked up at the sky, as a thousand tiny flakes danced through the air, and slid down his ragged face.

Life, as he knew it, was about to change once more.


	2. Chapter One: War & Peace

_The Setup: 1966.  The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam.  On the home front, tensions are mounting, as support for the War continues to diminish.  President Johnson makes his first trip to South Vietnam, and the Soviet Union announces its intentions to support North Vietnam, arousing anger among war supporters and moderates.  _

_As for our favorite sextet, Monica, Rachel and Phoebe are seniors in high school.  Ross, Chandler and Joey have just graduated high school (Joey and Chandler went to a different school, though).  Rachel and Ross are dating._

**~The Age of Aquarius~**

Chapter One: _War & Peace_

New York City, Summer, 1966 

"I got it, it came today," Ross said quietly, his demeanor suddenly much darker that it was only moments ago.

"Are you going?" Rachel asked, though she already knew the answer.

"I have to, Rach.  It's my duty."

"No, you don't!  We could move to Canada--"

"And live like a coward?  It's my duty, to defend the country Rachel.  They've called, and I have to go."

"I know," Rachel whispered, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

"Rachel," Ross placed his index finger under his girlfriend's chin, and tilted her face up toward his, "I love you, and I want to marry you, and have lots of babies together," Ross smiled, and Rachel giggled.  "I will be back.  I promise."

Rachel's smile faded, and she looked into Ross' eyes sadly.

"You can't make that promise, Ross.  You can't make promises on our fates," Rachel whispered.

"You're starting to sound like your friend Phoebe," Ross laughed.

"I wouldn't go that far," Rachel smiled.  Inside, her stomach was churning.  Her boyfriend was going to war.  He was headed to a far off country, a place she hadn't even heard of, until her neighbors and friends started going.  Rachel sighed, and fell into Ross' embrace.  Everything was changing so fast…

**~***~**

The final bell of the school year rang, and Phoebe dashed out of her classroom, and headed for her locker.  The faster she got out of this authoritarian hellhole, the better.  She tossed her books into her locker, causing a near avalanche of loose papers, folders, pens and food to begin tumbling out.  Phoebe hastily shoved the pile back into the locker, and slammed the door before disaster struck.  She ran down the corridor, fumbling through her eggshell macramé bag as she went.  She ran out of the school, down the stairs, and out into the student parking lot, and pulled out her keys as she reached her van.

"Pheebs!" the voice came from behind.  She turned around, and saw her good friend Monica running toward her.

"Hey Monica!" Phoebe waved.

"Can you give me a ride home?  I missed the bus!" Monica approached, fully out of breath and sweating.

"Sure.  Hey!  Do you wanna come with me to a protest rally?"

"Protest rally?" Monica furrowed her brow.

"Yeah, it's an anti-war rally!"

"Uh, I dunno, Pheebs, my Mom will kill me if she finds out I went to a rally!"

"Oh, come on, Mon!!  It'll be fun!"

Monica thought for a minute, then shrugged.

"Groovy!"

Monica and Phoebe piled into the van, and headed for the rally.

The University campus was teeming with young, enigmatic people from all walks of life.  Many carried large signs, all adorned with things like peace signs, hand-drawn doves, and phrases like, "US out of Vietnam", and "Down with Johnson".  Monica clasped onto Phoebe's arm, as her friend dragged her through the crowd.  She suddenly felt very self-conscious in her conservative blue dress and black loafers.  The kids around her were dressed in loose fitting cotton tunics, brown sandals, jeans, and long dresses.  Many girls wore flower arrangements in their hair, much like her friend Phoebe.  

"Joey!" Phoebe suddenly screamed, and pulled Monica toward the fountain that sat in the center of the University quad.  Phoebe stopped in front of a tall, dark haired man with shaggy hair and dark wire-rimmed sunglasses.  He smiled lazily as Phoebe approached, then pulled her into a hug.

"Pheebs!!" Joey laughed, and then looked over at Monica, who was standing behind Phoebe, fidgeting nervously with her dress.

"Who's your friend?" Joey asked slowly.

"Oh, this is Monica," Phoebe smiled, then turned to Monica, "Mon, this is Joey Tribianni."

"Hello," Monica said shyly.

"How _you_ doin'?" Joey winked.

"Hey, Joe, I just saw two people _doin' it_ under the Dean's window," a tall, sandy-haired man approached, and plopped down next to Joey.  He was dressed much like everyone else at the rally, and his messy, unclean hair hung in his face.

"Cool," Joey laughed.

"Hey, Chandler," Phoebe said.

"Oh, hey, Pheebs, glad you made it!" Chandler pulled Phoebe into a hug.

"That's uh, Monica," Joey pointed.

"Hey," Chandler smiled, and Monica felt herself blush slightly.  _He's cute…for a hippie_.

"Hey, you guys wanna go out to Phoebe's van and smoke?" Joey whispered, smiling mischievously.

"Yeah!" Chandler and Phoebe said, and the group headed out to the parking lot.

"Uh, what about the protest?" Monica asked, as they approached the van.

"Huh?  Oh, yeah, it'll still be there.  This won't take long," Joey chuckled.

"Oh.  Um, I don't uh, I don't smoke," Monica looked at Chandler nervously.

"What are you talking about," Chandler laughed, "_everybody _smokes!"

Joey and Phoebe giggled, and climbed into the van.  Monica hesitated slightly, and Chandler turned, and pulled her into the van, closing and locking the doors behind her.

Once they were settled inside the van, Joey pulled out a plastic bag, a one-dollar bill, and white rolling papers.  He set about rolling a joint, while Phoebe and Chandler chatted.

"Is that, uh, marijuana?" Monica whispered, her eyes wide with wonder.

"Yeah," Joey laughed, and shook his head.  Monica's face reddened, and she bit her lip.  She had never even smoked a cigarette!  If her mother knew she was sitting her with that…stuff…she would be grounded for the rest of her life!

Joey licked and sealed the joint, then twisted the ends, and put one end to his lips.  He pulled out a silver lighter, and ignited the joint, inhaling deeply.  Monica watched carefully, as he handed the lit joint to Phoebe, who then mimicked Joey's actions.  Chandler took the shrinking joint and inhaled deeply.  He closed his eyes, stifled a cough, and exhaled loudly.  Smiling broadly, he handed the joint to Monica.

"Um, I don't know…" Monica said nervously.  She didn't want Chandler and Joey to think she was a square, but she was nervous about what would happen.

"It's okay, Monica, you don't have to," Chandler said softly.  Monica smiled, and relaxed slightly.

Suddenly, Chandler moved his face closer to Monica, and she got her first real look at his deep blue eyes.  Mesmerized, she simply stared as he spoke.

"But Mon, if you aren't doing it just because you think your folks would disapprove, then you are wrong.  You are a grown woman.  Make your own decision." Chandler smiled slyly and sat back.  

_A grown woman_.  No one had called Monica a _woman _before.  She was always, her dad's "little harmonica", or a "young lady" or "Ross' baby sister".  She felt her stomach flutter, and couldn't take her eyes off of Chandler.  She took a deep breath, and plucked the glowing joint from Chandler's fingers.

She inhaled, just like the others.  But her throat filled immediately with a horrible burn, and her breath caught in her throat.  She felt the burning move to her lungs, and she began coughing furiously.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there, princess," Chandler laughed, and patted her on the back.

**~***~**

Rachel walked quietly into the house, and made her way up to her bedroom.  She plopped down onto the bed, and sighed heavily.  Images of Ross going to that-that _place _flittered through her mind.  She didn't want to think about it.  Her father had served in World War II, so Rachel knew that once he'd heard that Ross was going over, he would finally accept Ross, and maybe even respect him.  The thought of her father and her boyfriend getting along at long last made Rachel smile, just a bit.  The euphoria was short-lived, however.

"Rachel?" her mother knocked lightly, and then proceeded to walk into her room.

"Hi, Mom," Rachel smiled, but noted that her mother looked worn out, and not very happy.

"Sweetie, I'm afraid I have some bad news.  Your friend Chip was…well, he—"

"Is he dead?" Rachel's eyes widened, and she stood up abruptly.

"Y-yes, honey.  I'm so sorry."

Rachel felt her breath catch in her throat.  Chip, her first boyfriend, back in Junior High, was now nothing more than the latest neighborhood tragedy.  She wondered where he was when he died.  She wondered what his last thoughts were.  She wondered how she was supposed to go on, when everyone she knew was going overseas to die.  She fell onto her bed, and sobbed.

"I'm sorry, sweetie.  I'll, um, I'll go make you some hot cocoa, okay?" her mother left quickly.

Hot cocoa.  As if that was going to make everything better.

**~***~**

"Well, I think it's terrific," Jack Geller boomed, "My son, a soldier for freedom!"

"Just like you, dad," Ross smiled, as Jack patted him on the back.

"Yes, well, it's about time someone did something about those Commie bastards," Jack laughed.

"Jack! Watch your language," Judy cried.

"Oh, Judy calm down!  Ross is a man now!" Jack chuckled.

"Yes, well…"Judy sighed, "Ross, where is your sister, anyway?"

"I dunno," Ross shrugged, "I think she was gonna hang out with Phoebe."

"That strange girl that wears plants in her hair?  Oh, I do not like that girl.  She is nothing but trouble," Judy rambled.

"Judy, I'm sure she's fine.  I trust our Little Harmonica.  She would never do anything we didn't approve of," Jack smiled proudly.

**~***~**

Monica could not stop laughing.  No matter how hard she tried, everything just seemed to crack her up.  She looked at Phoebe, who was busy rummaging through her belongings, looking for some food. 

None of them made it back to the rally.  And after a few joints, none of them cared.  Monica had never felt so relaxed in her life.  Her cheeks were hurting from smiling so much!  She carelessly kicked her shoes into a corner, and collapsed onto the floor of the van, giggling the entire time.

"Hey, Monica, you want some animal crackers?" Phoebe yelled, tossing a stray cookie onto Monica's chest.

Monica poked her head up, and felt the walls around her sway.  She giggled, and picked up the cookie, studying it intently.  The tiny elephant seemed to me staring right at her.  She giggled, and tossed the cookie toward Chandler, who was half-asleep.

"Hey," Chandler mumbled, then fell back onto a set of shiny orange and yellow pillows that Phoebe had in the back of the van.

Monica laughed, and fell back onto the floor.  Her eyes suddenly felt very heavy.  She giggled softly again, before letting sleep consume her.
    
    _When the moon is in the Seventh House_
    
    _And Jupiter aligns with Mars_
    
    _Then peace will guide the planets_
    
    _And love will steer the stars_
    
    _This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius_
    
    _The Age of Aquarius_
    
    _Aquarius!  Aquarius!_
    
    _Harmony and understanding_
    
    _Sympathy and trust abounding_
    
    _No more falsehoods or derisions_
    
    _Golden living dreams of visions_
    
    _Mystic crystal revelation_
    
    _And the mind's true liberation_
    
    _Aquarius!  Aquarius!_
    
    _When the moon is in the Seventh House_
    
    _And Jupiter aligns with Mars_
    
    _Then peace will guide the planets_
    
    _And love will steer the stars_
    
    _This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius_
    
    _The Age of Aquarius_
    
    _Aquarius!  Aquarius!_
    
    _Harmony and understanding_
    
    _Sympathy and trust abounding_
    
    _No more falsehoods or derisions_
    
    _Golden living dreams of visions_
    
    _Mystic crystal revelation_
    
    _And the mind's true liberation_
    
    _Aquarius!  Aquarius!_

_The Age of Aquarius, ©1969, 5th Dimension_

_©2002 (SFGrl)_


	3. Chapter Two: Free As a Bird

_The Setup: 1966.  The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam.  On the home front, tensions are mounting, as support for the War continues to diminish.  President Johnson makes his first trip to South Vietnam, and the Soviet Union announces its intentions to support North Vietnam, arousing anger among war supporters and moderates.  _

_As for our favorite sextet, Monica, Rachel and Phoebe are seniors in high school.  Ross, Chandler and Joey have just graduated high school (Joey and Chandler went to a different school, though).  Rachel and Ross are dating._

**~The Age of Aquarius~**

Chapter Two: _Free as a Bird_

Monica opened her eyes, and was immediately blinded by sharp, early morning sunrays, filtering through the windows of the van.  She bolted upright, when she realized that it was morning, and she had been out all night.  Her mother was going to kill her!

"Phoebe," Monica crawled over to her sleeping friend.

"Hmmph?" Phoebe, who was curled up next to Joey, moved minimally, but kept her eyes closed.

"Pheebs, I have to get home!  My parents are gonna freak out!"

"Okay, okay," Phoebe mumbled, and wiggled her way out from under Joey's limp arm.

The girls settled into the front seats of the van, and made their way to the Geller residence.

"What am I gonna tell my folks?" Monica wondered.

"Just tell them we were studying Biology and we fell asleep," Phoebe said matter-of-factly.

"Phoebe, school is out for the summer, remember?"

"Oh.  Well, just tell them that you got stoned in my van and passed out."

"Phoebe!" Monica looked desperate.

"Okay, okay," Phoebe relented, "Tell them we were watching TV and fell asleep or something."

"Okay," Monica mumbled, as the van pulled onto her street.  She suddenly felt very ill.

"Here," Phoebe sprayed Monica with a horrible smelling perfume.

"What are you doing?" Monica coughed.

"So you don't smell like pot," Phoebe smiled.

"Hey, what's going on," Chandler's head popped up between the seats, startling the girls.

"We're taking Monica home," Phoebe said.

"Oh.  Why?"

"Because, her parents are going to kill her!" Phoebe laughed.

"Not funny, Phoebe," Monica grumbled.

"Oh, well, are you gonna come out with us tonight?" Chandler asked hopefully.

"It depends on what my parents say," Monica said quietly.  The van pulled up to her parent's house.

"Groovy.  Hey, Monica," Chandler said, as Monica opened the van door.

"Yes?"

"You're alright," Chandler smiled lazily, and took Monica's place in the front seat.

"Thanks," Monica smiled, and reddened slightly.

"See ya tonight then, at the bonfire?"

"Uh, I don't—"

"I'll call you!" Phoebe said.

"Okay," Monica shrugged, and shut the van door.  She watched, as Phoebe drove away.  Taking a deep breath, she turned on her heel, and walked into the house.

~***~

"Hey," Chandler mumbled, as he made his way into his parent's three-story house.

"Chandler, get back here!" Charles boomed.

"Dad, I'm tired," Chandler moaned, rubbing his face to hammer home the point.

"We need to talk about what you are going to do, now that you are graduated."

"Dad, I told you, I want to—"

"Hang out and play your 'music'?" Charles mimicked, "You need to grow up and face reality."

"If I face reality, then I'll have to admit that my father would rather sleep with the houseboy than my own mother," Chandler seethed.

"Enough!  I've had it with your smart-ass attitude, Chandler!  You're enlisting!  Maybe a stint in boot camp will help you see clearly."

"I am _not _fighting in that _war!_ It goes against everything I believe in, and—"

"Oh, Chandler, shut up!  You aren't old enough to even understand what's going on!"

"But I'm old enough to fly over there and **die**??" 

Charles felt his anger mounting, and knew that if he didn't leave, or kick Chandler out of the room, he'd say something he'd regret.

"Chandler, get out!  Go, sleep, smoke your precious pot!  But we _will _talk about your future, whether you _want to _or not!"

"Fascist," Chandler mumbled, and stormed out of the room, ascended the broad, orange-carpeted staircase that led to the family bedrooms.

"What is going on out here," Nora came stumbling out of her bedroom, and looked at Chandler crossly.

"It's nothing, Mom," Chandler sighed, taking note of the fact that she _once again_ smelled of bourbon.

"Fine, then keep it down," Nora growled, and retreated back into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Chandler sighed heavily, and stared at the closed door for a long moment.  He hated seeing his mother like this: he hated that she was always drunk; He hated his father for driving her to drink with his not-so-subtle affair.  Chandler quietly opened his mother's bedroom door, and poked his head into the room.  

His mother was now passed out; she was sprawled out onto her bed, her right arm dangling lifelessly off of the side of her bed, her left arm clutching an empty bourbon bottle to her chest.  Chandler's eyes dropped to the floor, and he watched his own feet as he made his way into the bedroom.  Upon reaching the bed, Chandler looked once again at his mother, before pulling the bottle from Nora.  He pulled a thin blanket over her, and sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed.  He took a deep breath, as he used his finger to pull a tangled tendril of hair from her mouth.  Choking back his anger and sorrow, he abruptly stood and left the room.

~***~

"Phoebe, is that you?"

"It's me, Grandma," Phoebe yelled, as she entered the cramped one-bedroom apartment.

"Did you get my medicine?" Came the voice from the bedroom.

"Yes, Grandma," Phoebe sighed, and dropped her bag onto the tattered brown sofa that doubled as her bed.  She pulled a small vial out of her jacket pocket, and walked it into her grandmother's bedroom.  She quickly dropped off the vial, and turned to leave.

"Are you going out again tonight, dear?" her grandmother croaked.

"Yes, Grandma," Phoebe mumbled.

"You be careful, dear."

"Yes, Grandma," Phoebe whispered, and rushed out of the room.

Phoebe's grandmother was terminally ill, with a degenerative disorder that Phoebe did not quite understand. Phoebe felt a wave of guilt flow through her, every time she brushed her grandmother off.  But Phoebe could not watch another loved one die.  It had been nearly ten years, since Phoebe found her mother dead, the result of a suicide.  Her father had left soon after Phoebe and her ever-absent twin sister Ursula, was born.  Recently, Phoebe had found solace in taking up humanitarian and anti-war causes, and constant parties.  The stale air of the apartment, combined with the looming air of death, was stifling to Phoebe, and she found herself spending more and more time in her van, or with her friends.  She had spent a few night's and Monica's parent's house, but she had the distinct feeling that Monica's overbearing mother did not like her.  Sighing heavily, she plopped down onto the dusty sofa, and repressed a sardonic smile.  She would not want to be in her friend's preppy little shoes at the moment.

~***~

Monica could hear her parents talking to Ross in the kitchen.  She did her best to sneak into the house, hoping that her parents would simply think that she was just waking up, and that she had made it home well before her curfew.

No such Luck.

"Monica Elizabeth Geller, GET IN HERE!"

Monica's shoulders slumped slightly, as she turned toward the kitchen, and prepared herself for her mother's wrath.  She kept her eyes to the floor as she made her way into the kitchen, to face two fuming parents, and one smug brother.

"Just where have you been young lady?" Judy seethed darkly.

"I, uh, was with Phoebe.  We were watching a movie, and we fell asleep," Monica stuttered quietly.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?  A girl your age, running around like some…_floozy!_" If Monica didn't know any better, she'd say that her mother was actually enjoying this little tirade.

"Judy, that's enough," Jack stepped in, and Monica smiled inwardly, "Monica would never lie to us, would you, honey?" Jack turned to his only daughter, and smiled hopefully.

Monica's innocent smile nearly faltered, and she fought to keep eye contact with her father.  She suddenly felt dirty and dishonest, and wondered if her father knew more than he was letting on.

"Of course not, Daddy," Monica said quietly, and turned to leave before Judy could start up again.

"But," Jack's voice stopped Monica in her tracks, "You ARE grounded for two weeks, for missing your curfew."

Monica nodded silently, and retreated to her room, deciding that it was best not to point out that Ross had missed his curfew several times in high school, and was let off with a warning.

But then, Ross could do no wrong.

And now, her "perfect" older brother was going off to War, and Monica could see her parents bursting with pride.  For her part, Monica could never compete, because she couldn't go to war, she could never be a "hero".  While Monica constantly strove, and often achieved perfection in grades and other extracurricular activities, it would never be enough in the eyes of her parents.  She could never be Perfect Ross.  And she hated him for it.

_Hated Him._

A knock on her bedroom door pulled Monica out of her thoughts.

"Come in," she said flatly.

Ross poked his head in the door, and gave Monica a neutral smile.

"Hey, Mon, can I talk to you a sec?"

"Do I have a choice?" Monica retorted, as Ross walked in and closed the door.

"Where were you last night, really?" Ross asked.

"I was with Phoebe," Monica said, "And even if I wasn't, why would I tell you?  You'd just go squealing to Mom and Dad anyway."

"No I wouldn't," Ross argued meekly.

"Yeah, right," Monica said, and sprawled herself across her bed.

"Look, I was wondering if you'd talked to Rachel since yesterday afternoon.  She was kind of upset about my draft, and she won't return my calls…"

"No, I haven't seen her since our last class yesterday."

"Okay," Ross' shoulders dropped, and Monica watched as he fought back stubborn tears.  He turned to walk out of the room, but Monica's voice stopped him.

"Ross, I'll try to talk to her today, okay?"

Ross smiled gratefully, and opened the door.  

"Thanks," he whispered, and retreated into the hallway.

~***~

Rachel sat in the window seat that faced her parent's back garden, absently playing with the gold chain that was clasped around her delicate neck.  The news of Chip's death, combined with Ross' pending departure had thrown Rachel into a dark funk, and she had consequently spent the last twenty-four hours holed up in her bedroom.   The food her mother had brought to her was untouched, and attempts by any member of her family to talk to her were met with cold stares and mumbled responses.  In the end, the Green family decided that what Rachel needed, was space.

That was, of course, until Rachel's best friend arrived.

Monica's parents had allowed Monica to visit Rachel, because Ross had convinced them to.  Monica's gut reaction had been to resent Ross for having that kind of power over their parents, but she resisted: she knew that now was not the time.

"Hey, Mon," Rachel smiled sadly, as Monica walked into her bedroom.

"Hey, how are you, Rach?" Monica took a seat next to Rachel.

"Chip is dead," Rachel said flatly, and looked back out the window.

"Oh, Rach, I'm so sorry," Monica wrapped her arms around her friend slowly.

"Aren't you upset, that your brother is going over to that…_place_?" Rachel said bitterly, and pulled out of Monica's embrace.

"Yes…but I know he'll be okay," Monica smiled.

"How do you know?"

"Because it's _Ross_!  He's _always_ okay!  And you are _Ross & Rachel_!  You belong together, for, like, ever!" Monica laughed.

Rachel laughed, as played with the tissue in her hand.

"It'll be okay, Rach," Monica said softly, and watched as Rachel's shoulders sank, "He's worried about you, and he wants to spend as much time with you as he can."

Rachel looked up sharply, as though that realization just struck her.

"Is he at your house?" Rachel asked softly.

"Uh huh.  C'mon, I'll take you," Monica smiled, and led her shaky friend out of the room.

~***~

Monica was cuddled into her bed, and half asleep, when she heard a small tapping on her bedroom window.  She furrowed her brow, and lazily pulled herself out of bed.  As she approached the window, she spotted Phoebe's van, parked down the street.  She pulled open her window, and peered down into the yard.  Down below, she saw Phoebe and Joey, both poised to toss another set of pebbles at Monica's window.

"Monica, c'mon!" Phoebe whispered loudly.

"Are you crazy? My folks grounded me for two weeks!"

"So?  Monica, you have a perfectly good 'sneaking out' tree in front of your window!  Don't put it to waste!"

Monica shook her head, but paused when she saw a figure approaching the yard from the van.

All of the images of her parent's death stares and harsh punishments seemed to vanish, when she saw Chandler striding toward the house, looking just as adorable as he did earlier that morning.

"Gimme a minute," Monica whispered, and disappeared into her room.

"Is she coming or what?" Chandler asked impatiently, as he approached the others.

"Yeah, she's coming," Phoebe grinned, and the three of them headed for the van quietly.

Monica did one more scan of her room, before carefully climbing out the window, and hopping onto a protruding branch.  Monica was more than familiar with the ancient Oak's knots and branches, after spending many childhood years climbing up the very tree she was now quietly shimmying down.  She often climbed the old tree to get away from the wrath of her brother Ross, who was not as adept at tree climbing, and, by the age of twelve, had adamantly refused to climb the tree, after falling out of it and breaking his arm.  Monica smiled, as her fingers ran over a small engraving she had made in the tree's bark many years ago: "Ross sucks".  The engraving was prompted after a particularly nasty spat between brother and sister that had resulted in the unceremonious beheading of one of Monica's prized dolls.

Monica made a soft landing onto the emerald green lawn, and sprinted toward the van, smiling at the idea that she was doing something her parents would not approve of.

It felt good.

*

Phoebe pulled her van into the beach parking lot, and squealed excitedly.  The bonfire was already well under way, and from the looks of it, the turnout was huge.  It was a slight hike to get to the fire, but the silhouettes of at least twenty partying hippies could be seen, even from a distance.  Chandler and Joey grabbed blankets, and Phoebe and Monica grabbed flashlights, before the group headed to the beach.

The fire was much larger than it looked from the van.  And as they approached, Monica could see that there were several logs and blankets scattered around the blaze.  The group settled in an empty spot on the east side, with their backs to the water.  Several of Phoebe, Chandler and Joey's friends walked over to introduce themselves, but it soon became evident that all anyone cared about that night was getting high.  Monica absently took a beer from Chandler, and drank half of it down as she surveyed the area.  She watched, as couples freely expressed their love for each other out in the open, her virgin eyes shocked at the sights before him.  She hardly noticed when Chandler replaced her empty beer can with a full one.

A group of women approached Phoebe, and she introduced them to Monica.

"Monica, this is Abby, and Kathy and Fiona.  Gals, this is Monica."

"Hey," the women said in unison, each of them eyeing Monica suspiciously.

"Pheebs," Abby whispered, loud enough for Monica to hear, "she kind of looks like a nark."

"Nah, she's cool," Phoebe laughed.

"Monica," Kathy called, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "you aren't wearing a _bra_, are you?"

"Well, uh, yeah," Monica said softly.

"Burn it!  Burn it!" the women squealed, and jumped around Monica giddily.

"What?" Monica's eyes widened, and her heart felt like it was pounding out of her chest.

"It's okay Monica," Phoebe whispered, "We just do it to show that we don't need to be restrained by a man, or by authority.  But you don't have to," Phoebe grinned, and there was something about her smile that told Monica that yes, she did _have to_.

"You need help getting it off?" a voice whispered into her ear, and Monica nearly jumped out of her skin.  She turned around, and felt her face flush, when she saw that it was Chandler.

"I—I've got it," Monica smiled, and looked at the group of women that were eagerly awaiting the display of "independence".

Chandler shrugged non-chalantly, and plopped down on one of the blankets next to Joey, who was busy rolling joints.

Monica fumbled with the clasp on her bra, and suddenly realized how difficult it was to remove the constrictive undergarment while still wearing a shirt.  But, after quiet instructions from Phoebe, Monica was finally able to pull the offending object out of her shirt, then proudly held it in the air.  

"Burn it! Burn it!" the women squealed again, and Monica drunkenly flipped the bra into the raging inferno.  The women cheered happily, then stumbled away.  Monica sighed, and fell onto the blanket with Phoebe, Joey and Chandler.  Joey handed her a half-smoked joint, and she took it greedily, and inhaled the sweet smoke.  She'd never felt so free in her life.

Two joints, and several beers later, Phoebe and Joey (who had always insisted that they were NOT a couple) were busy making out under one set of blankets.  On the other set, Monica giggled softly, as the last of the mind-altering drugs hit her system.

"Having fun?" Chandler smiled, as he sat back down on the blanket.

Monica nodded vigorously, then looked over at Joey and Phoebe, who were now doing much more than kissing.

"I thought they were just friends," Monica said slowly.

"They are.  It's, you know, _Free Love baby_," Chandler laughed.

"Oh," Monica said, tearing her eyes from the scene.

"Between you and me," Chandler whispered into Monica's ear, giving her involuntary chills, "I don't know how they do it.  I could never really, you know, _share_."

"Me neither," Monica said absently.

"I'm happy you came tonight, Monica," Chandler grinned, "and _really_ happy I got to see your bra!"

Monica blushed, and bit her lip.  She turned away from Chandler, embarrassed by her embarrassment, but suddenly realized that she was once again, looking at Joey and Phoebe, now in the throes of passion.

"Sorry," Chandler said softly, "if all this makes you uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable," Monica said suddenly, though it was evident by her tone that she was.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

Monica thought for a moment, and though her mind was hazy, she knew that she had never felt so free and grown up in her life.  She was determined to hold onto that feeling, no matter what.

Before Chandler knew what hit him, Monica lunged at him, and began kissing him with a clumsy desperation.  The two fell back onto the blanket, and Chandler quickly took control, slowing the kiss, and pulling himself on top of Monica.  In the back of his mind, he wondered about Monica's lucidity, but her roaming hands muted his logic.  He pushed his tongue into her mouth, and let his hormones take full control.  He grabbed at her clothes with the same uninhibited desperation that she had shown only moments earlier, and eventually found his way under her shirt.  He once again expressed gratitude at her earlier bra display, as his lips found his way to her neck.  He stopped abruptly, when he realized that she was no longer squirming, giggling or moaning.  He reluctantly pulled his face from the crevice of her neck, (but made it a point not to remove his hands from under her shirt—just yet) with visions of Monica with a deer-in-headlights look on her face.  It was quite obvious that Monica was a virgin, and Chandler cursed himself for taking it too far.

But when Chandler finally gathered the courage to look Monica in the eyes, he was relieved to see that she was not angry, or scared, or unsure.

She had simply passed out.

Chuckling lightly, Chandler pulled the blanket around them, gathered Monica in his arms, and settled into sleep next to her.

TBC…

**_AN: _**_I am working on this one slowly but surely.  For those of you who are still reading "One For the Road" (anyone? anyone?) I have been debating with myself a lot over the past week on that one, and my first instinct was to put the fic on hold, because of the horrible situation back east, but then I thought "I am not going to let that cowardly bastard affect me like that!" But, in all honesty, I am really having trouble writing it under the current circumstances.  I will (hopefully) finish it, but I just can't bring myself to right now._

_Reviews on THIS fic would be greatly appreciated, as I don't want to continue of there's not much interest.  There will be a LOT of chapters, as I've only touched the surface of what I want to do with it._

_On a totally unrelated note: GO GIANTS!!_

_;)_


	4. Chapter Three: For What It's Worth

_The Setup: 1966.  The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam.  On the home front, tensions are mounting, as support for the War continues to diminish.  President Johnson makes his first trip to South Vietnam, and the Soviet Union announces its intentions to support North Vietnam, arousing anger among war supporters and moderates.  _

_As for our favorite sextet, Monica, Rachel and Phoebe are seniors in high school.  Ross, Chandler and Joey have just graduated high school (Joey and Chandler went to a different school, though).  Rachel and Ross are dating._

**_AN: This Chapter contains some sexual content.  You have been warned._******

**~The Age of Aquarius~**

Chapter Three: _For What It's Worth_

_She was running.  From what, she couldn't be sure.  Darkness had fallen all around her, enveloping her like a thick, stifling blanket.  Behind her, she could hear the heavy, ominous footsteps closing in.  She struggled to run faster, but her legs refused to cooperate.  The darkness closed in.  She cried out, but no one was there.  She felt the ground collapse beneath her, and she shrieked when she felt herself falling into the darkness…_

"Monica?  Monica, wake up."

Monica cried out once more, then felt herself being pulled back into consciousness.  She reluctantly opened her eyes, and found herself face-to-face with a very concerned-looking Chandler.

"Monica, it's okay.  You were dreaming."

Monica blinked a few times, allowing her eyes to focus.  She sat up slowly, and saw that she was at the beach, and it was still dark out.

"What time is it?" she whispered, as her eyes scanned the sea of slumbering bodies around her.

"Uh, about 2 or 3, I think," Chandler smiled.

"I should get home," Monica looked at Chandler awkwardly.

"Yeah, uh, okay.  Lemme get Phoebe's keys," Chandler whispered, and crawled over toward his sleeping friends.

Monica looked out into the darkness, listening as the waves softly caressed the sandy shoreline.  Flashes from her nightmare haunted her for a short moment, but she quickly shook them off.  

It was just a dream.

"Ready?" Chandler whispered into her ear, and Monica jumped, startled.  She smiled, and nodded silently.

They were silent as they walked toward the van.  The sounds of the ocean and the crackling embers of the fire were fading in the background, and were slowly replaced by a thick, awkward stillness.  It wasn't until they reached the van, that Chandler finally said something.

"Monica, I'm—uh, sorry if we get you in trouble again.  I know that you are, you know—"

"A goody-two-shoes?" Monica smiled.

"No!  Well, I—" Chandler ran his hands through his messy hair, then blew a puff of air upward, when his shaggy hair landed in his face.

Monica giggled, and closed the gap between herself and Chandler.

"It's okay," she laughed, "I am a good girl.  But," she continued, her voice taking a decisively sultry turn, "I really wanna be bad."

Chandler chuckled, and arched an eyebrow.  "Do you know how much trouble you could get into with me?"

Monica nodded, and grinned slyly.  Chandler shook his head, and slid open the side door of the van.  Monica smiled, and climbed into the van.  Chandler followed her, then slid the door shut.  He turned, and looked at Monica, who was sitting on the floor of the van, propped up against the wall.  He crawled toward her, his eyes never leaving hers.  Still on his hands and knees, he leaned toward her, and kissed her softly.  She smiled into the kiss, and placed her hands on either side of his face, as she deepened the kiss.  Chandler pulled her toward him with one arm, and used the other to gently balance himself over her.  He pulled away, and looked at her for a moment, his eyes searching for reassurance.  Monica smiled, and wrapped her arms around Chandler's neck.

"Yes," she whispered, and nodded.

Chandler smiled, and pulled her into another kiss.  He kissed his way down her neck, and let his body take control of his mind.

Monica was enjoying the feel of Chandler's hands and lips, but the closer they got to actually "doing it", the more nervous she became.  Her stomach was in knots, and her hands began to tremble as she pulled at Chandler's clothes.  Minutes earlier, she was sure that she wanted this, but now she was having doubts.  She only knew what Rachel had told her, but she had never really told her much, mostly because Monica's first reaction had always been "Ew! That's my _brother_!"  But Rachel had told her that the first time was painful, and Monica was now having doubts.  But she was so nervous, that she couldn't say anything.

Her mind returned to the present, and Monica suddenly felt very exposed, and very scared.  Her ragged breathing increased as Chandler ran his hands over her, and she bit her lip to try and keep quiet.

Chandler mistook the heavy breathing as a sign of arousal, and it only encouraged him.  He swiftly discarded the rest of his and Monica's clothes, and moved his lips back up to hers.

Monica closed her eyes, and told herself that it wouldn't be as bad as Rachel had made it out to be.  She struggled to enjoy the moment, knowing that she had wanted this, and had even encouraged Chandler into it.  She wasn't sure why she was suddenly so hesitant, but she liked Chandler, and didn't want to disappoint him.  She smiled when he looked at her, and then closed her eyes as tightly as she could.

But it hurt.  It hurt much more than she expected, and she could not stop herself from crying out in pain.  She only vaguely heard Chandler whispering in her ear, and did not feel her tears rolling down her cheeks.

Chandler tried to get Monica to relax, but he could not stand the sound of her cries.  He whispered a quick apology into her ear, but was sure she couldn't hear him.  He pulled out of her, and clambered for the blanket he'd brought back with them from the bonfire.  He pulled it over her, and wrapped his arms around her, in an attempt to soothe her pain.

Monica cried into Chandler's chest for several minutes.  Once she realized what she had done, her anguish was replaced with humiliation, and she buried her face deeper into Chandler's chest.

"Monica, I'm so, so sorry," Chandler whispered soothingly.

"What?" Monica pulled away, and looked up at Chandler, confused.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Chandler frowned.

"Oh.  I—I don't think it's your fault. I guess…I wasn't ready," Monica said softly.

"Then it is my fault," Chandler whispered hoarsely, and pulled Monica closer.

Monica giggled, and looked up at Chandler.

"What's so funny?" Chandler asked, puzzled.

"I…don't know," Monica finally said, "I just needed to laugh."

"Oh really?" Chandler said incredulously.  He pulled himself on top of Monica, and began to tickle her.  "I'll give you something to giggle at," he laughed.

Monica laughed and squirmed beneath him, but was no match for his heavy body and large hands.  When Chandler finally relented, he planted a small kiss on her nose, and smiled.  His smile faded suddenly, as he ran his hand down her cheek.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked softly.

"I'm sure," Monica smiled, and pulled Chandler on top of her for a kiss.  

Monica had apparently made it back into the house without being noticed, because her parents all but ignored her later that morning at the breakfast table.  Chandler had finally dropped Monica off at around 4, but Judy woke Monica up for breakfast at 7:30.  Monica struggled to keep her eyes open throughout breakfast, and was relieved when her parents announced that they would be out most of the day, and would then be meeting with Rachel's parents for dinner.  After mechanically cleaning the dishes, Monica lumbered back up into her room, and crashed onto her bed.  She was asleep within minutes, dreaming of her early morning tryst with Chandler.

~***~

Ross sighed heavily, and crumpled up the paper he had been writing on.  He tossed the paper toward the wastebasket that sat in the corner of the room, but once again, he missed the basket completely.  He shook his head, as he counted the balls of paper that now littered the ground around the basket.  

"Well, Geller, it's a good thing you never tried out for basketball," he mumbled to himself.  Shaking his head once more, he pulled out another sheet of paper, and picked up his pen.  He bit his lower lip, and began writing.

_Dearest Rachel,_

And that was as far as he got.  Why was he suddenly having so much trouble expressing himself?  He knew what he wanted to tell Rachel, but he was having trouble picturing his own death.  The letter, he reassured himself, was meant to bring comfort to Rachel, in the event of his untimely death in Vietnam.  Sighing in frustration, Ross looked across his desk at a framed photo of Rachel.  He picked up the frame, and ran his finger over the glass lovingly.  He turned the frame over, and pulled the cardboard backing from it.  He then freed the photo from the frame, and turned it over once more.  Smiling, he stood and added the photo to the growing pile of things he planned to pack. Sitting back down, he picked up the pen, and began to write, pouring out his heart into a letter he hoped Rachel would never have to read.

~***~

"Chandler," Charles' voice boomed as Chandler stumbled down the stairs, and into the kitchen.

"What?" Chandler said irritably, his head throbbing from lack of sleep and a bit too much alcohol the night before.

"I'm expecting you home for dinner tonight at 7:30.  I've called in a recruiter, and he is going to help us discuss your options."

"A recruiter?  An Army recruiter?  I'm not doing this," Chandler said coldly.

"At least listen to your options, Chandler.  I will not have you wasting your life away—"

"Like you care about my life," Chandler laughed bitterly, and began walking out of the kitchen.

"What is your problem?  What did I do to you that was so bad, Chandler?  I gave you a home, I fed you, and I've provided you with the best education money can buy—what more do you need?"

Chandler turned to look at his father, a small smirk playing on his lips. His eyes were filled with rage, but when he finally spoke, his voice was controlled, and flat.

"I needed a _father_.  I needed someone there to tell me that I mattered. To you I was always a liability, or an extra expense to be 'dealt with'.  You care more about what strangers think, than what your family feels.  You've driven Mom to drink, and you've driven me away.  So don't expect me to drop my ideals and pick up arms just because that's what **you** want.  It's too late.  You haven't earned the respect you think you deserve." Chandler turned to leave, then looked over his shoulder, at his shocked father.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have an **anti-war** rally to go to."

~***~

The steps of City Hall were already filled with protesters by the time Chandler and Joey arrived.  All around them were chants to end the war, and peace-themed songs.  Joey spotted Phoebe and Monica immediately, and headed their way.

"Sorry we're late," Joey smiled, and hugged Phoebe.

"That's okay, the rally is just getting organized," Phoebe smiled, and led the group deeper into the crowd.

"How are you feeling?" Chandler took Monica's hand, as they struggled to keep up with Phoebe and Joey.

"Fine," Monica smiled, "and a little embarrassed," she laughed.

"You have no reason to be," Chandler said seriously.

"Yes, well, I think that I just need…practice," Monica smiled, and squeezed Chandler's hand.

Chandler paused and looked down at Monica, wondering if she was really serious.  Monica winked, reassuring Chandler.  He turned, and made his way through the crowd.

The rally went on longer than expected, and the crowd had grown considerably.  The chants were growing louder, and the rally spilled out onto the streets that ran in front of the building.  The raucous crowd, combined with bitter feelings and soaring temperatures were pushing the police over the edge.  Once the rally began tying up traffic in the area, the police decided that they had had enough.  It was time for crowd control.  

The protesters reacted badly to the police intervention.  Helmeted officers began yanking people from the crowd, as several paddy wagons pulled up to the scene.  The protesters struggled against the police, and the rally quickly turned from a peaceful demonstration, into a mini-street war.  It was protesters versus police, and only one side was armed.

Joey grabbed Phoebe by the hand, and frantically searched for Chandler and Monica.  He finally spotted them, toward the perimeter of the crowd, and he and Phoebe quickly made their way toward them.

Chandler held onto Monica's hand tightly, as they searched for a way out.  Chandler heard his name, and turned to see Joey and Phoebe coming their way.  He waved his free arm in the air, then froze when he heard Monica scream.  He turned to find a masked policeman pulling at Monica, trying to get her into the paddy wagon.  Monica resisted, and the officer wrapped an arm around her waist.  Chandler pulled at Monica, while simultaneously shoving the officer away.

Big mistake.  The officer released his hold on Monica, and advanced toward Chandler, with his nightstick pulled.  Chandler backed up, but tripped on the curb, and fell backwards.  The officer sprayed Chandler with some kind of tear gas, then whacked him with the stick.  Monica screamed, and tried to intervene, but was stopped by another officer who had come up behind her.  Joey shoved the assaulting officer off of Chandler, but he too, was apprehended by frustrated officers.  He was shoved into the paddy wagon behind Monica and Phoebe, and turned around in time to catch Chandler, who was also being tossed into the truck.  

~***~

Charles smiled apologetically at the recruiting officer, who, after waiting for more than two hours, had decided he'd had enough.  He officer was putting on his green jacket and hat when Charles addressed him.

"Once again, I am sorry.  He's being rather…stubborn about all of this."

"Not to worry, Charles.  I'm certain that we can expedite the draft process for your son."

"I owe you one, Brad.  Thank you."

"You can thank me when your son is an officer for the US Army," Brad grinned, and walked out the front door.

There's something happening here 

_What it is ain't exactly clear_

_There's a man with a gun over there_

_Telling me I got to beware_

_I think it's time we stop, children, what's that sound_

_Everybody look what's going down_

_There's battle lines being drawn_

_Nobody's right if everybody's wrong_

_Young people speaking their minds_

_Getting so much resistance from behind_

_I think it's time we stop, hey, what's that sound_

_Everybody look what's going down_

_What a field-day for the heat_

_A thousand people in the street_

_Singing songs and carrying signs_

_Mostly say, hooray for our side_

_It's time we stop, hey, what's that sound_

_Everybody look what's going down_

_Paranoia strikes deep_

_Into your life it will creep_

_It starts when you're always afraid_

_You step out of line, the man come and take you away_

_We better stop, hey, what's that sound_

_Everybody look what's going down_

_Stop, hey, what's that sound_

_Everybody look what's going down_

_Stop, now, what's that sound_

_Everybody look what's going down_

_Stop, children, what's that sound_

_Everybody look what's going down_

For What It's Worth 

(Written by Stephen Stills)


	5. Chapter Four: Revolution

_AN: 1966.  The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam.  On the home front, tensions are mounting, as support for the War continues to diminish.  President Johnson makes his first trip to South Vietnam, and the Soviet Union announces its intentions to support North Vietnam, arousing anger among war supporters and moderates.  _

As for our favorite sextet, Monica, Rachel and Phoebe are seniors in high school.  Ross, Chandler and Joey have just graduated high school (Joey and Chandler went to a different school, though).  Rachel and Ross are dating.

**~The Age of Aquarius~**

Chapter Four: Revolution

Throbbing, heavy, persistent pain wracked through his head, as Chandler was lifted into consciousness.  He slowly opened one eye, and then the other, but found that the sickeningly green glow of the florescent lights burned his eyes like fire.  He squeezed his eyes shut, and let out a low groan.

"Chandler?"

Chandler took a deep breath, and for a moment, could hear nothing but the low buzzing emanating from the lights. 

"Chandler, you okay?" Joey placed his hand on his friend's back, steadying him as he struggled to sit upright.

"Joey, my eyes are burning…and my head…what happened?"

"Those damn cops attacked you!  Don't worry, they aren't pressing charges.  They already let the girls out."

"Are they okay?"

"Yeah.  Can you stand up?"

"Yeah, give me a minute, though," Chandler sighed, and leaned up against the cold painted brick wall heavily.

"I figured you didn't want me to call your Dad, so Phoebe's hanging out to take us home," Joey said after a long minute of silence.

Chandler nodded numbly, as his memories came back to him full force.

"I hate my Dad sometimes," Chandler said quietly.

"What'd he do now?" Joey asked.

"He wants me to go to Vietnam.  He doesn't realize how much I hate all of that stuff.  He doesn't even know me."

Joey nodded, and swallowed down his doubts.  He hadn't told Chandler that he'd received his draft card the day before, and he hadn't told anyone that he was considering going over.  He knew the consequences that went with dodging the draft, and deep down he felt like it was his duty as an American to go.  His father had fought in World War II and had served in the Korean War.  His Grandfather had fought in World War I.  Joey felt like he would be letting his family down, if he didn't go.  But as he watched his best friend struggle to recover from his injuries—injuries incurred because he had been fighting against a war he despised so much—he wondered if his friendship with Chandler would survive, if he left.  Joey decided that now was not the best time, and he gingerly helped Chandler up.

"Your Dad can't make you go fight in a war," Joey smiled reassuringly.

"Yeah," Chandler shrugged.  Inside, he wasn't so sure.  His Dad had a strange way of buying the right friends, at the right time, to get what he wanted.

~*~

"I don't want this moment to end," Rachel sighed sadly.  She was sat on the Geller's porch swing, in Ross' arms, staring out at the eerily quiet neighborhood streets.

"Neither do I—but we'll have many more moments like these, when I get back."

"Yeah," Rachel whispered, fighting her urge to scream at him; W_hat if you don't come back?  What if this is our last moment together?_

"Are you coming with us to the airport this afternoon?" Ross asked quietly.

"Of course I am," Rachel sat up, and looked at Ross, "I want to be with you until the very last minute."

"Great," Ross smiled, and kissed Rachel's forehead.  He pulled her toward him, and sighed.  It would not be their last morning together.  Ross had to keep telling himself that.

That was the only way he was going to get through this.

~*~

"Come on, Monica, we're going to be late!" Judy yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

"I thought I wasn't allowed to leave the house," Monica retorted bitterly, as she emerged from her bedroom.

"Young lady, get down here, now!  You **will **see your brother off today—he is going away to fight for our country, and—"

"Yeah, yeah," Monica grumbled, and thumped down the stairs.  He looked at her brother, who was standing proudly in the driveway, Rachel on his arm.

"The family hero," Monica sighed, and followed her parents out the front door.

The ride to the airport was filled with nervous chatter; Jack was telling old War stories, and Judy kept talking about all the heroic things Ross was going to accomplish.  Ross and Rachel sat next to each other quietly, their hand intertwined, neither of them quite ready to let go.  Monica tuned out all of the chatter, as she stared out the car window.  Her mind was on Chandler.  She hadn't seen him since the night before, and even though Phoebe called to tell her he was okay, she was worried about him.  She sighed heavily as the car pulled into the short-term parking lot, and her family and Rachel climbed out of the car.  She needed to find a way to see Chandler tonight—and while the rest of the family was busy seeing Ross off, Monica was formulating an escape plan.

Ross wrapped his arms around Rachel, and pulled her close, in a futile attempt to quell her tears.  She hiccupped as her sobs subsided, and Ross rubbed large circles into her back, as he whispered in her ear.

"Shh, it's alright Rach, I'll be back before you know it," Ross smiled, and gave her arms a reassuring squeeze.

"Just…don't go," Rachel pleaded softly, before sniffling loudly.

"I love you," Ross said sadly, and backed away, knowing that it was time to board the plane.

"I love you too.  Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will, I promise," Ross smiled, and gave his parents and sister one more hug, before walking onto the skywalk.

And just like that, he was gone.

~*~

Monica feigned a headache, and went to bed shortly after dinner.  She knew her parents would be consumed with Ross' departure, so she waited for them to settle in front of the television—to watch the nightly footage that was being fed from Vietnam—before she climbed out the window and headed for Phoebe's waiting van.

The girls met up with Joey and Chandler at a party that was being held in an abandoned warehouse near the docks.  

"Chandler, are you okay?  How's your head?  Do you need anything?" Monica had one arm wrapped around Chandler, while the other hand was busy caressing his hair and face.

"Monica, I'm fine, really," Chandler laughed, and pulled her in for a kiss.

Monica and Chandler weren't at the party long.  At Monica's request, they left early, and found a quiet spot to talk.  

"How are you holding up…you know, with your brother leaving and all," Chandler asked, as he brushed stray strands of hair from Monica's eyes gingerly.

"I'm fine," Monica smiled, "I was thinking about you all day, actually," she smiled seductively.

"Oh, really?" Chandler smiled incredulously, and pulled Monica closer to him.

"Mmm-hmm," Monica nodded, then moved to steal a kiss.

Chandler took the hint, and led Monica back to the van.

They settled into the back of the van, and resumed kissing for several minutes.  Chandler pulled away, and looked at Monica tenderly.

"Mon…are you sure?" he whispered.

"This time, I really am," Monica smiled, and pulled Chandler toward her.

Their second attempt at sex was much more successful than their first, so much so that for the next few days, Monica found herself spending more and more time at the Bing residence.

They almost always arrived late at night, and she would typically leave long before anyone in the house was awake.  But one morning, she was shocked to wake up in Chandler's bed; why hadn't he wakened her up to take her home?  He knew that she needed to sneak back into her house before daybreak.  Panicked, she quickly pulled herself out of bed, and dressed.

She was nervous about walking around the house looking for Chandler during the day, as she had not yet been introduced to Chandler's parents, and she didn't want them to get the wrong impression of her:  _Hi, I'm Monica, and I'm having sex with your son.  _The image was not a pleasant one.  

She was also upset with Chandler, for being so careless.  Intent on giving her a piece of her mind, she straightened her shoulders, smoothed out her hair, and walked downstairs, to look for Chandler.

She heard voices, coming from her left.  She turned, and looked through the open doorway of the next room.  She spied Chandler's profile, framed by the large kitchen window.  His lips were set tight, and his eyes were bloodshot.  She saw a man, Chandler's father, she assumed, standing across from Chandler, his arms folded, and a cross look on his face.

"Chandler, I'm not going to go through this again.  If the government wants you to go, then you **will** go."

"I thought we lived in a free country," Chandler said coarsely.

"We do, and that's why you need to go.  You need to fight to keep our freedom!"

"That's ridiculous!  There's nothing I can do there…I need to be here, to—"

"You are going, Chandler.  End of discussion."

"Fine, send me to a foreign country to die.  It won't change a thing, though.  It won't change the fact that you're a failure, and a—"

Monica gasped, as Chandler's father turned, and shoved Chandler into the wall, before slapping him hard across the face.

"You will watch your mouth.  And you will pack up.  You're leaving as soon as possible," he said, before stalking out the back door of the house.

Any anger or frustration Monica felt toward Chandler melted instantly, as she watched him slide down the wall, trembling visibly.

She walked into the room, and knelt down in front of him.  He looked up at Monica, and sighed sadly.  

"I hate him," he said, his voice trembling with tears he stubbornly refused to shed.

"He loves you, Chandler, he just doesn't understand you," Monica whispered, and rubbed his arm comfortingly.

"Right," Chandler chuckled, and stood up.  "C'mon," he said, wrapping his arm around Monica's shoulder, "I'll take you home."

"Are you really going to Vietnam?" Monica asked quietly.

"Not if I can help it," Chandler smiled, though something in his eyes told Monica that he was already resigned to the fact that he _was_ going.

~*~

Ross rolled over on his bed, and settled himself deeper into the thin mattress.  _Just a few more minutes_, he told himself groggily.

The United States Army, however, had other ideas.

A glaring light filled the room, and Ross felt his thin blanket being ripped from his body.

"**Alright you lazy scums, get your Asses out of bed!  Front and center, this instant**!"

Ross' eyes shot open, and his brain took a second to register his surroundings.  Where was he?  Suddenly, he remembered—he was in…Georgia—at boot camp.

**"Geller!  Are you deaf, boy?  Get up!"**

Ross shot out of bed, and joined his fellow recruits in the center of the long room.

"Nice of you to join us, Private!"

"Sorry, I—"

"Sorry, what?"

"Sorry…sir!"

"Well, Geller, I think it's time we all learn our very first lesson!  Since it took you, oh, about 54 seconds to get yourself front and center, your platoon has just been assigned 54 push-ups!  Welcome to the Army!"

Ross grumbled, as he climbed onto the ground.

"You're gonna pay for that, Geller," the large redhead next to him growled, as he pushed himself off the ground.

_Well Ross_, he thought to himself, _looks like you're not in Kansas anymore._

_You say you want a revolution_

_Well you know_

_We all want to change the world_

_You tell me that it's evolution_

_Well you know_

_We all want to change the world_

_But when you talk about destruction_

_Don't you know you can count me out_

_Don't you know it's gonna be alright_

_Alright, alright_

_You say you got a real solution_

_Well you know_

_We don't love to see the plan_

_You ask me for a contribution_

_Well you know_

_We're doing what we can_

_But if you want money for people with minds that hate_

_All I can tell you is brother you have to wait_

_Don't you know it's gonna be alright_

_Alright, alright, al..._

_You say you'll change the constitution_

_Well you know_

_We all want to change your head_

_You tell me it's the institution_

_Well you know_

_You better free your mind instead_

_But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao_

_You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow_

_Don't you know know it's gonna be alright_

_Alright, alright_

_Alright, alright_

_Alright, alright_

_Alright, alright_

Alright, alright *Revolution (John Lennon, Paul McCartney) 

****


	6. Chapter Five: Fortunate Son

_AN: 1966.  The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam.  On the home front, tensions are mounting, as support for the War continues to diminish.  President Johnson makes his first trip to South Vietnam, and the Soviet Union announces its intentions to support North Vietnam, arousing anger among war supporters and moderates.  _

_As for our favorite sextet, Monica, Rachel and Phoebe are seniors in high school.  Ross, Chandler and Joey have just graduated high school (Joey and Chandler went to a different school, though).  Rachel and Ross are dating._

**~The Age of Aquarius~**

Chapter Five: Fortunate Son

South Vietnam 

Ross jumped off of the helicopter, and looked around nervously.  Nothing could have prepared him for the dankness that consumed him: the humidity was almost unbearable. Thick foliage surrounded the large camp in every direction.  In a small clearing, sat several small tents, and a large fire. He walked toward one of the Army green tents, his eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and fear.

"Geller," the lieutenant standing in front of him called suddenly.

"Sir," Ross stood at attention and saluted.  Inside, the scientist in him smirked, as the word _Pavlovian_ came to mind.

"Captain wants to see you in the admin tent…that way," the lieutenant pointed at a tent that sat on the eastern side of the camp.

Ross nodded, and made his way into the tent.

"Sir, you wanted to see me sir?" Ross asked.

"Geller, thank God you're here.  I've looked at your file, and noted that you have a skill that we are in dire need of."

Ross smiled slightly, as images of his hero's welcome back home played in his head.

"Our last registrar was killed three weeks ago," the Captain continued.

"Sir?" Ross asked, his brow furrowing.

"I'm putting you behind the desk," the Captain boomed, "you'll sign in every soldier that comes in and out of this place, dead or alive.  There's a form letter here that you'll send off to the families of the dead.  Private Milner will show you the rest.  Any questions?"

"Um, yes…sir, when will I go out to…uh, fight?"

"Fight?" the Captain chuckled, "Hell, son, you should count your blessings.  You wouldn't last a week out in those jungles."

~*~

New York 

Monica sat in the cold, dim waiting room, picking at her cuticles nervously.  The clinic smelled awful, and the sounds of women crying and screaming put her on edge even more.  Phoebe sat next to Monica, and watched her as she squirmed in her seat.

Phoebe was the only person that knew about Monica's suspicions that she may be pregnant.  She'd started showing symptoms about a week after Chandler was shipped off to Boot Camp.  Monica felt her heart lurch, as she pictured the look Chandler had had on his face the day he left.  He'd stayed strong for her, but she knew that inside, he was hurting deeply.  She was happy that he was at least able to go with Joey;

_"It'll be good, ya know, to have a friend with you."_

_"I wish I could stay here with you, Mon."_

_"I'll be here when you get back…I swear."_

_"Then I swear I'll be back."_

"Miss Geller?"

"Yes?" Monica was pulled from her reverie, when the nurse pulled her into the next room.

"Pheebs, what am I gonna do?  My folks are going to kill me!"

"Well, I know some people in Chinatown…"

"No way, Pheebs, forget it."

"I'm just saying—"

"I can't…I just can't.  But what am I gonna do?  Chandler is halfway to Vietnam by now!  And what if he doesn't come back?  What if—"

"Look, Monica, it's not the end of the world!  I'm sure your parents will help you, and his parents might too!  Think about how great it could be, to have a little Chandler walking around!" Phoebe smiled.

"Yeah," Monica sighed sadly.  _Easy for her to say…she's not the pregnant one._

~*~

"You know, for a guy who didn't even want to do this, you're doing surprisingly well," Joey smirked, as he and Chandler ran their requisite five miles around the camp.

"Well, between you and me, I'm hoping to get shot in the shoulder upon landing, so I can go home," Chandler huffed.

"I think you'll have to do a lot better than that," Joey smiled, "Or worse."

"Ugh, I'm not even there yet, and I already hate that place," Chandler said, referring to Vietnam.

"It's Monica, isn't it?  I mean, all of your political bullshit aside, you just didn't want to leave the girl."

"Political bullshit aside…I can't stop thinking about her."

"Well, maybe we'll get lucky…maybe this war will be over before we get shipped out."

"If you think this war will be over in two weeks, you're outta your mind," Chandler grinned, and sprinted ahead, with Joey close on his heels.

~*~

"Pregnant?  Pregnant?  Are you kidding me?" Judy fumed, her face turning crimson with each syllable she spoke.

"Y-yes.  Six weeks."

"Who is he?" Jack asked, his tone flat and low.

"Chandler Bing…he's…he's gone to war."

"Did he…force you?" Jack asked, a look of pure hatred crossing his face.

"No!  No.  We…I love him."

"Right," Judy huffed.

"I do!  And he's coming back for me!  We'll get married when he gets home," Monica said confidently, though inside she wondered just what Chandler would do when he found out.

Monica had sent Chandler a letter that afternoon.  He'd been sending her letters daily, all of them filled with talk about how much he hated his training, and how annoyed he was that his superiors thought he was 'doing well'.  He also talked about how much he missed her, and how he longed to see her.  The proclamations filled Monica with the confidence she needed to not only reveal her pregnancy to him, but to her own parents.  And while she was prepared for their objection and disappointment, she was not prepared for what came next.

"I want you out of my house.  Pack a bag, and get out.  I will not have this kind of…immorality in this house," the statement did not come from Judy—it came from Jack.

Monica looked at her father, with tears in her eyes.  Jack would not look at her; he stared at the floor as he spoke.  Monica looked pleadingly at her mother, but it was clear from her stern expression that she agreed with the decision.  Crying out, Monica stood, and ran from the living room, before stumbling up the stairs to her bedroom.

~*~

The telegram came the next morning.  Rachel and her mother had been visiting with the Geller's when two uniformed officers came to the door.  Rachel was the first to notice them, as they approached.

"Oh my God," Rachel whispered, her face turning white.

Jack opened the door before the officers could knock.

"Mr. Geller?" the taller officer asked.

"Yes," Jack choked.

"On behalf of the United States Government, we offer our sincerest condolences," the officer handed Jack a pale yellow slip of paper, saluted, turned on his heel, and walked away.

Jack closed the door behind him, and stared blankly at the paper in his hand.  Judy, Sandra and Rachel approached slowly, and Jack unfolded the telegram.

_Ross Edward Gellar_

_PT14872_

_Killed in The Line of Duty_

_Some folks are born made to wave the flag,_

_Ooh, they're red, white and blue._

_And when the band plays "Hail to the chief",_

_Ooh, they point the cannon at you, Lord,_

_It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no senator's son, son._

_It ain't me, it ain't me; I ain't no fortunate one, no,_

_Some folks are born silver spoon in hand,_

_Lord, don't they help themselves, oh._

_But when the taxman comes to the door,_

_Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale, yes,_

_It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no millionaire's son, no._

_It ain't me, it ain't me; I ain't no fortunate one, no._

_Some folks inherit star spangled eyes,_

_Ooh, they send you down to war, Lord,_

_And when you ask them, "How much should we give?"_

_Ooh, they only answer More! more! more! yo,_

_It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no military son, son._

_It ain't me, it ain't me; I ain't no fortunate one, one._

_It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, no no no,_

_It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate son, no no no,_

_("Fortunate Son", Creedence Clearwater Revival)_


	7. Chapter Six: To Everything There is a Se...

_The Setup: 1966.  The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam.  On the home front, tensions are mounting, as support for the War continues to diminish.  President Johnson makes his first trip to South Vietnam, and the Soviet Union announces its intentions to support North Vietnam, arousing anger among war supporters and moderates.  _

_As for our favorite sextet, Monica, Rachel and Phoebe are seniors in high school.  Ross, Chandler and Joey have just graduated high school (Joey and Chandler went to a different school, though).  Rachel and Ross are dating._

(AN: For this chapter, it's important to remember that Ross and Chandler have never formally met.)__

_~The Age of Aquarius~_

_Chapter Six: To Everything There Is a Season_

_North Vietnam~Three Months Later_

Chandler was crouched, waist deep in the stagnant water, his finger on the trigger of his gun, and his eyes scanning the seemingly endless jungles.  He focused on the sound of his own breathing, and ignored the mosquitoes that hovered hungrily around him.

They were out there…there was no doubt in his mind.  Suddenly, he heard a rustling in the trees ahead of him; he aimed his rifle, and pulled the trigger.  More movement—and a bullet came whizzing out of the trees, and splashed the water near his feet.  He turned, and ran left, as another bullet whizzed by his head.

"Shit," he muttered, and headed for the trees.

"Chandler," he heard Joey's voice to his right, as he stumbled blindly through the thick foliage of the jungles.  A bullet hit a tree behind him; he rolled to his side and shot back.

"How many are out there?" Joey and Wilson, another soldier from their platoon, were on the ground next to him now.

"I couldn't get a full count…there's gotta be at least twenty," Chandler muttered, his eyes scanning the rice fields ahead of him.

Suddenly, and elderly woman and a donkey made their way down a small slope toward the field, unaware of the firefight that was happening ahead of her.  She had yet to come into the Viet Cong's view.

Chandler's eyes widened, and the other two followed his gaze.

"No no no no no no…" Chandler said in a low voice, his heart racing.

"Shit," Wilson muttered, "They'll shoot at her, they don't care."

"Not if we do it first," Chandler muttered, and aimed his rifle.

"What?  Chandler, what the hell are you doing?"

Chandler aimed his gun, and fired a warning shot into the ground ahead of the woman.

The woman screamed, and turned and ran in the opposite direction.

The distraction was just what they needed; they ran into the jungle, and back toward the camps.

"Bing, Tribianni and Wilson have been sent to do Recon," Sergeant Ripley reported, as Captain Harrison, his military clerk in tow, made his way through the dilapidated camp.

"And you think the Viet Cong will be back here?" the Captain replied, referring to an earlier attack on the camp.

"Here?" The clerk asked nervously.

"That's what we're about to find out," Ripley pointed toward the three soldiers that were jogging toward them.  

"There's about twenty, twenty five of them," Chandler said, as he approached.

"You think they are headed this way?"

"They know we're here…I suggest we get the hell out of here, before it gets dark," Chandler said.

"Wh-where are we gonna go?" the Captain's clerk asked nervously.

"Welcome to the jungle," Chandler smiled at the dark-haired Private knowingly, and walked toward his tent to change into dry clothes.

Ross nervously watched the soldiers walk away, then looked out into the jungle.  He looked back over at the tent that Bing had disappeared into.  _How did he know that guy?_

He looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place him…

~*~

New York City 

Monica sat on the sofa at Phoebe's grandmothers, her right hand on her stomach, and her left holding a worn photo of Chandler.  She sighed heavily.

"Hey, Mon," Phoebe walked into the apartment, and sunk into the sofa next to her friend.

"Hey," Monica put down the photo and smiled sadly at her friend, "How'd it go?"

"Uck, it was awful," Phoebe shook her head, "there were relatives coming out of nowhere, all of them hoping that my grandmother had hidden away some small fortune.  But she only had this place, and she left that to me."

"That's good," Monica said.

"Yeah…and I was thinking, that we could be roommates, and I could help you raise the baby…you know, until Chandler comes home."

"Yeah, well, that's the thing, Pheebs…I haven't heard from Chandler since my parents kicked me out.  And I tried to talk to his parent's, but they don't want anything to do with me," Monica shook her head.  _She was not going to cry again…she wasn't!_

"I'm sure he's okay, Mon…he's probably just…busy!"

"Yeah," Monica muttered, "I guess I'm just…ever since my folks got that telegram about my brother, they've been…distracted.  And I can't get through to Rachel at all.  I feel like I'm losing everyone I care about, and if I lose Chandler too, I'll—"

"Oh!  I have an idea!" Phoebe smiled excitedly.

"Okay," Monica said warily.

"We should go to California!  There's supposed to be this really great commune in San Francisco, and we can kind of…start over, ya know?  No one will know us, and we can…we can—" 

"Okay!" Monica smiled.

"Really?"

"Yeah!  We should try to get Rachel too…she needs to get out of here," Monica said seriously.

"Oh, yay!" Phoebe said, "I'll get the van ready, and you get Rachel!"

~*~

The day always started the same; she would sleep for hours, and wake up exhausted.  Her parents had given up any hope that she would ever come out of her shell, and for the most part, they left her alone.  She would spend a good part of the day staring out her bedroom window, and rarely ate anything anymore.

The news of Ross' death had hit Rachel hard—harder than she could have ever fathomed. She cried constantly, though the fits of tears had tapered a bit with each passing week.

"Rachel?" Rachel's mother stuck her head in the door hesitantly; nervous as to what kind of state she would find her daughter in.

"Yeah," Rachel said softly, without turning from the window.

"Monica is here, dear," Sandra announced, then let Monica into the room.

Rachel turned to look at her friend; she was heavier, Rachel thought, though it was mostly in her stomach.  Rachel fought back a pang of jealousy; she was happy that her friend was carrying a piece of Chandler with her, but deep down she wished that it were her that was pregnant.  At least that way Ross would always be with her, somehow.  Rachel straightened, reminding herself that Monica had lost her brother, and that she was in just as much pain.

"Hey Mon," Rachel smiled.

"Rachel, how are you?" Monica smiled warmly, and pulled her friend into an embrace.

"I'm okay," Rachel smiled bravely, and leaned back against the window.

"I have something I want to ask you…have you ever been to California?"

"What?  N-no…" Rachel said warily.

"Well, Phoebe's grandmother just died, and we've decided that we are going to drive to San Francisco, and we think you should come!"

"What? Monica, no," Rachel shook her head.

"Come on, Rach!  You need to get out of New York!  It's sunny there, and it's never cold and—"

"Mon, I don't want to, okay?" Rachel said, exasperatedly.

"But—"

"Promise to write me?"

Monica's shoulder's deflated, and she turned to walk out of the room.  Rachel looked back out the window, and a realization hit her—she would never be able to get over Ross here.

"Monica, wait," Rachel chased her friend into the hallway.

"Yeah?" Monica turned around.

"When are you leaving?"

"In a few hours," Monica said.

"Can you pick me up on the way?" Rachel grinned.

"Okay!" Monica smiled, and hugged her friend, before skipping down the stairs.

Rachel sighed heavily, and closed her eyes, a sad smile playing on her lips.

It was time to move on.

_To everything - turn, turn, turn_

_There is a season - turn, turn, turn_

_And a time for every purpose under heaven_

_A time to be born, a time to die_

_A time to plant, a time to reap_

_A time to kill, a time to heal_

_A time to laugh, a time to weep_

_To everything - turn, turn, turn_

_There is a season - turn, turn, turn_

_And a time for every purpose under heaven_

_A time to build up, a time to break down_

_A time to dance, a time to mourn_

_A time to cast away stones_

_A time to gather stones together_

_To everything - turn, turn, turn_

_There is a season - turn, turn, turn_

_And a time for every purpose under heaven_

_A time of war, a time of peace_

_A time of love, a time of hate_

_A time you may embrace_

_A time to refrain from embracing_

_To everything - turn, turn, turn_

_There is a season - turn, turn, turn_

_And a time for every purpose under heaven_

_A time to gain, a time to lose_

_A time to rend, a time to sew_

_A time to love, a time to hate_

_A time of peace, I swear it's not too late!_

_"Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There Is a Season)," by The Byrds _


	8. Chapter Seven: California Dreaming

**_AN: Just to clear up, Ross is NOT dead, lol.  Ross GellAr is dead, but Ross GellEr, is alive.  Poor Ross Gellar.  He was such a nice guy.  LOL.  _**

****

The Setup: 1966.  The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam.  On the home front, tensions are mounting, as support for the War continues to diminish.  President Johnson makes his first trip to South Vietnam, and the Soviet Union announces its intentions to support North Vietnam, arousing anger among war supporters and moderates.  

_As for our favourite sextet, Monica, Rachel and Phoebe are juniors in high school.  Ross, Chandler and Joey just graduated high school.  Oh, and they all went to the same high school, and are all good friends.  Rachel and Ross are dating._

_The Age of Aquarius_

_California Dreaming_

_North Vietnam_

Word spread through the camp quickly, and soldiers began packing up the camp hurriedly, in preparation for their move to a new location.  Ross eyes the jungle nervously, hoping that they were packed up and gone before the Viet Cong showed up.

"Geller, let's go," the Captain yelled from behind.

"Y-yes sir," Ross grabbed his bag, and followed the Captain.

"Private, this is Second Lieutenant Bing, and Private Tribianni.  They are going to be accompanying us to the border."

"Wh-what about the air lift?" Ross asked.

"Too risky," Captain Harrison said flatly, "We aren't far from the border, and patrols will be there to get us to Saigon.

"Saigon?" Ross asked.  I thought I was—"

"They need you at the Embassy down there."

"So, we aren't going with the rest of them?" Ross pointed at the group of men that were making their way out of the campsite.

"No," Lt. Bing interrupted, "our orders are to get you into friendly territory.  We have to get moving, too."

The Captain nodded, and walked toward the disassembled camp to gather his pack.  Ross looked over at the Lieutenant again, a puzzled expression lining his face.

"Is there a problem, Private?" Bing asked crossly.

"No…no, I just…you look really familiar to me, that's all."

The Lieutenant's shoulders straightened, and he looked down at the name badge that was sewn onto the Private's fatigues.  He looked back up at Ross, and bit his lip.  "You from New York?"

"Yeah," Ross grinned.

"I see.  Do you, um, do you know Monica Geller?" he asked quietly.

"Sh-she's my sister," Ross said.

Lt. Bing nodded.  "Yeah, I know your sister," he said sadly, and pulled his pack onto his back, as he turned away from Ross.

"Wait!  How, um, how do you know Mon?"

"I…we were…good friends," Bing smiled, "But, I—I haven't heard from her since I came out here, so…" Ross picked up the bitter tone in the Lieutenant's voice, and it dawned on him that this man was the one his sister had been going on and on about in the one and only letter he'd received from her.  He wasn't sure why his family had stopped writing, and it killed him that he hadn't heard from Rachel in months.  Eventually, he stopped trying, figuring that the letters just weren't getting home.

"I'm guessing," said Ross quietly, "that you're the one she wrote to me about."

"What?" Bing looked at Ross sharply.

"She told me that she was seeing someone…and that they were sending him to war soon as well.  She told me she loved him," Ross smiled.  The relief that shone on Bing's face was more evident that he'd probably intended.  He nodded at Ross silently, and looked over at Joey and Captain Harrison, who were waiting on the South end of the camp.

"We'd better go Private Geller," the Lieutenant smiled warmly.

"Yes sir," Ross said, and followed Lt. Bing out of the camp.

Oklahoma 

"Okay, this state is officially more boring than the last two," Rachel sighed.

"Wait til we hit Kansas," Monica giggled.

"Okay, guys, next question," Phoebe said, as she flipped on the windshield wipers in response to the rain that had begun to pour, "If you had Aladdin's magic lamp, what would your three wishes be?"

The van was quiet for a moment, as each woman contemplated her answers. 

"Well," said Rachel, "I'd say, I wish that this war would have never happened, and I wish I could be with Ross right now, and I wish I would have bought those brown suede boots while they were on sale!"

Monica giggled, "I know!  They were so cute on you!"

"Wait, let's go back to Rachel's wishes," Phoebe said, her eyes never leaving the road.

"What about them, Pheebs?" Rachel asked.

"What would you say to Ross right now, if your second wish came true?"

Rachel looked pensive, and sad.  She turned, and watched the rain snake sideways across the windows.  "I would…tell him how much I love him, and that I never want us to be apart again," she said quietly.

The other girls were silent for a long moment, each of them contemplating the same conversation they would have with the men that had disappeared from their lives.

"What about you, Mon?" Phoebe asked.

"I just want my baby to know his father," she sighed, "And I want my parents to accept me for who I am, not what they think I should be."

"They'll come around," Rachel said, "they love you, they have to…"

"Yeah," Monica said flatly.

"Okay, this is too depressing," Phoebe announced, "let's talk about all of the things we're gonna do in California!"

"I'm getting a tan," Rachel said.

"I want to meet movie stars!" Monica added.

"I want to…smoke California grass!" Phoebe giggled.

"Maybe we can smoke grass with movie stars on the beach?" Monica suggested, and the women fell into fits of giggles.

"Do you think it's raining in California?" Rachel asked, as she looked up at the charcoal storm clouds that blanketed the Oklahoma sky.

"No way!" Phoebe shook her head, "It _never _rains in California!  That's why it's the Sunshine State!"

"Phoebe, _Florida_ is the Sunshine State.  California is the _Golden State_," Monica corrected.

"Oh, whatever," Phoebe smiled.

"Do you guys think it's raining in Vietnam right now?" Rachel asked quietly.

Monica and Phoebe sobered, and looked out at the rain again.

"I dunno," Monica said quietly.

North Vietnam 

The rain was relentless, and it made it next to impossible to see anything ahead of them.  The group's pace had thus slowed significantly, and Ross was silently wondering if they were ever going to get to the border.  He was relieved when the group stopped under a large, leafy tree to take a break.

Ross sat on a log, a few feet from Lt. Bing.  He watched him, and wondered if this really was the guy his sister had been talking about.  He looked like someone that could be named Chandler, but he didn't act much like a man who hated war.  In fact, he seemed to be doing quite well.  Ross liked the Lieutenant, but he didn't like the idea that he was dating his baby sister.

The Lieutenant stood up, and walked around to the other side of the tree.  Ross stood up and followed him.

"Your name is Chandler, then," Ross stated, as he approached.

"Yeah," Chandler said flatly.

"Chandler Bing?" Ross smiled.

"Yeah," Chandler sighed, and shook his head, "I don't know what my parents were thinking."

"Monica said that you were opposed to war…how did you—"

Chandler turned to look at Ross, his eyes ablaze, "I do hate war, and I hate everything about this place.  I'm banking on getting out of here as soon as possible."

"But you seem to be doing so well…I mean, you—"

"Ironically, I am really good at all this military shit.  So hate it as I might, today I am nothing more than a pawn in the Great American War Machine," Chandler shook his head, and spit something out of his mouth.

"What are you, a Communist?" Ross asked.

"No…but I'm not a robot, either," Chandler said angrily, and walked back around the tree.

"Let's move, Private," Chandler shouted.

_All the leaves are brown_

_And the sky is gray _

_I've been for a walk_

_On a winter's day_

_I'd be safe and warm_

_If I was in L.A._

_California dreaming_

_On such a winter's day_

_Stopped into a church_

_I passed along the way_

_Well, I got down on my knees_

And I pretend to pray 

_You know the preacher likes the cold_

_He knows I'm gonna stay_

_All the leaves are brown_

_And the sky is gray_

_I've been for a walk_

_On a winter's day_

_If I didn't tell her_

_I could leave today_

_(California Dreaming~The Mamas & The Papas)_


	9. Chapter Eight: Break On Through to the O...

**_Story Summary_**_: Fall, 1966.  The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam.  Air Raids, Chemical Warfare, and strained international relations are affecting domestic opinion more than ever.  _

Monica, Rachel and Phoebe are on their way to California, following the death of Phoebe's grandmother, the discovery of Monica's pregnancy, and the (false) message that Ross had been killed in action.  In Vietnam, Chandler and Joey are working to get Ross and his Captain into friendly territory, as Ross struggles to bond with Chandler, the man his sister had been dating back home.

_The Age of Aquarius_

_Chapter Eight: Break On Through To The Other Side_

_North Vietnam_

"I thought we were supposed to be there by now," Ross huffed, as he followed Chandler through the thick of the jungle.

"The storm slowed us down a lot last night," Joey said from behind Ross.

"Well, are we going to—"

"Private," Chandler stopped suddenly, and spun around, "Need I remind you that we are in enemy territory here?  Your chattering is going to get us killed," Chandler glared at Ross for a silent moment, before turning and stalking forward.

Deflated, Ross continued forward, his brow furrowed in confusion.  What had he done to make Chandler hate him so much?  Perhaps it wasn't him; perhaps it was the situation.  Or maybe it had something to do with Monica.  Ross wondered how things were left between them; he wanted to ask, but was afraid of getting his head ripped off.

Chandler took a deep breath, and concentrated on clearing a trail through the foliage.  He knew he was being unfair to Ross, but he needed an outlet for his frustration, and Ross, being Monica's brother, was the unfortunate victim for his pent-up emotions regarding Monica's apparent blow-off.  He hadn't heard a thing from her since he'd left New York, and when he finally did receive a letter, it was not from Monica—it was from her mother:

_Chandler,_

_Enclosed, please find the letters you have been sending to Monica.  As she is currently involved with someone else, and she has requested that you stop corresponding with her, and that you refrain from contacting her when you return._

_Judy Geller_

Chandler hadn't even told Joey about the letter.  He had been shocked, and angry, but kept it all to himself.  But his unexpected encounter with Monica's brother had brought out all of his emotions, especially when he had mentioned his sister's letter.  At first, he was relieved to discover that Monica had written to Ross about him.  But when Ross had later revealed that the letter had been sent only days after Chandler had left for Vietnam, it made him wonder; Had Monica really moved on?  Had she really forgotten about him?

He hadn't forgotten her.  She filled his thoughts daily, especially when he was standing waist-deep in stagnant water, or under a warm Asian rainstorm.  He wondered if she was happy, or if she missed him the way he missed her.

And he wondered if he'd live to see her again.

San Francisco 

"Wow, this is unbelievable!" Phoebe squealed from the passenger seat, as Rachel pulled the van into a dirt lot adjacent to the Pacific Ocean.

"It's so weird…it looks just like the ocean in New York," Rachel said.

"Nah, it's way more beautiful here!" Phoebe sighed, and tumbled out of the van.

Monica smiled, and watched her friend skip down toward the beach merrily.  She looked over at Rachel, and observed the far-off look she had on her face.

"Penny for your thoughts," Monica smiled, and placed her arm around Rachel's shoulder.

"I…I can't believe we made it," Rachel smiled sadly.

"I'm happy you decided to come," Monica said softly, and placed her free hand over her stomach protectively, "I have a feeling we are going to need each other a lot over the next few months."

"Yeah," Rachel said, and looked over at Monica.  She suddenly realized that Monica and Phoebe were all she had anymore.  They were thousands of miles from anyone else.  Rachel turned and watched Phoebe dancing around in the shallow waters on the shore.

This was her family now…and she would do anything to protect them.

Little did she know, that in the months to come, they would be fighting for their lives.

North Vietnam 

The group stopped for a rest in a small clearing, just north of the border.  Ross made his way toward Chandler, who was doing a small inventory of their supplies.

"Sir," Ross said quietly, and sat down next to him.

"What can I do for you, Private?" Chandler said distractedly.

"I, uh, sir, can I speak plainly?"

"Of course," Chandler sighed.

"I just um, I just want to know if I've done something to offend you in some way."

"What?" Chandler looked up from his task crossly.

"Well, you just seem…mad at me," Ross shrugged.

Chandler put down his bag, and looked over at Ross, before sighing deeply.

"Private…Ross, look, I…you're right, I haven't been very fair to you.  The truth is…your sister blew me off, and I guess…I guess I'm taking it out on you.  Not very professional, I know," Chandler chuckled, and shook his head.

"Monica…Monica said she loved you," Ross said, confused.

"Well, her mother sent me back all my letters, and said Monica had moved on, so…"

"My mother…doesn't really get along with Monica…I…if I were you, I wouldn't put too much stock into what she says," Ross smiled reassuringly.

"Yeah?" Chandler smiled slightly.

"Well, I mean, my mom is—"

"Shh," Chandler held up his hand, and looked around quickly.

"Lieutenant," Joey whispered, and pointed to the trees on his left.  Joey and the Captain already had their rifles aimed at the trees.

Chandler slowly, carefully picked up his rifle, and slid to the ground.

"Stay low," He whispered to Ross, who had also grabbed his rifle.

Suddenly, a shot came from the trees in the opposite direction, barely missing Joey's ear.

"Shit," Joey muttered, as the group quickly grabbed their bags and headed south into the trees.

The shots seemed to be coming from every direction, and Chandler and Joey would turn around intermittently to fire back.  Another shot rang out, and Captain Harrison grunted and collapsed.

"Oh, God," Ross fell over the Captain.

"Sir?" Ross turned over the Captain, and saw that the bullet had hit him between the eyes.  He was clearly dead.

"He's dead," Ross said, shaking, as he pulled away from the body.

"Private, get up!  Get up now," Chandler yelled, and pulled Ross to his feet.  "Leave him!  We have to move!" Chandler fired a shot over Ross' shoulder.

They ran for several minutes, and soon, Ross was able to make out a clearing, several years away.  Two jeeps were sitting near the back of the clearing, and Ross turned to look at Chandler.

"Get to the Jeeps Ross!" Chandler screamed, as the popping from the guns seemed to increase.

"Come with me!" Ross yelled.

"We're covering you—get to the border!"

"You have to come with me!  You'll never get back to your Platoon!" Ross argued, as he shot into the trees once.

"Private, I am giving you a direct order.  Go!" Chandler pushed Ross toward the Jeeps.

Ross ran at full speed, and could feel the whizzing of the bullets at his feet and near his head.  Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his leg, and he collapsed into the mud.

"Aargh," Ross cried out, and pulled himself up.

He was now only a few feet from the border.  He looked back, and saw that the Viet Cong were closing in on Chandler and Joey.  He felt an officer pick him up, and carry him toward the Jeeps.

"You have to help them," Ross yelled.

A sudden explosion sent the officer, and Ross to the ground.  Coughing wildly, Ross sat up, and looked out into the clearing.

The field was scattered with bodies, and there was no movement anywhere.

The silence was deafening; the smell of burning flesh made him want to throw up.

He did throw up.  Then he sat up, and looked up at the smoke-shielded sky, and wondered why he was the only one that was spared.

You know the day destroys the night 

_Night divides the day _

_Tried to run_

_Tried to hide _

_Break on through to the other side _

_Break on through to the other side _

_Break on through to the other side, yeah _

_We chased our pleasures here _

_Dug our treasures there _

_But can you still recall _

_The time we cried _

_Break on through to the other side _

_Break on through to the other side _

_Everybody loves my baby _

_Everybody loves my baby _

_She get(s high) _

_I found an island in your arms _

_Country in your eyes _

_Arms that chain _

_Eyes that lie _

_Break on through to the other side_

_Break on through to the other side _

_Break on through! _

_Made the scene _

_Week to week _

_Day to day _

_Hour to hour _

_The gate is straight _

_Deep and wide _

_Break on through to the other side _

_Break on through to the other side _

_(Break on Through (to the Other Side), The Doors )_


	10. Chapter Nine: Strange Vibrations

_AN: See previous chapter for summary and notes._

Dedicated to the seven astronauts of the Shuttle_Columbia__.___

_The Age of Aquarius_

_Chapter Nine: Strange Vibrations_

_San Francisco___

"Wait, no that was the street," Phoebe said, as she fumbled with the map.  The girls were back in the van, trying to find the house where they would be staying.

"Okay, so just turn at the next street," Phoebe sighed.

"Right or left?" Rachel said.

"Uh, I don't feel very good," Monica moaned from the back.

"Left," Phoebe said.

"We're almost there, Mon," Rachel announced, "Wait, um, Pheebs, there's no left turn here."

"Ugh!  What is WRONG with this city!"

"You just said you loved it," Rachel laughed.

"Well, that was before we had to—hey look, Haight Street!"

"What?" Rachel tried to look.

"Okay, turn here!"

Thirty minutes, and one 'emergency throw up' stop later, the girls finally pulled up in front of a large, brightly painted, Victorian house, complete with Bay windows and ornate trim.  One of the Bay windows had a large peace sign painted on it, and the trim was painted a hideously bright purple.  The girls piled out of the van, and stood in awe in front of the house.  The air reeked of marijuana, and the faint sounds of The Doors could be heard through one of the windows.

Phoebe and Rachel walked up the steep purple steps to the front door, leaving Monica to settle her stomach in the van.  Phoebe knocked on the large green wooden door, and moments later, the door flew open, to reveal a tall, gangly brunette.

"Hey," the girl said slowly, her dilated eyes struggling to focus on one of the two girls before her.

"Hey," Phoebe replied, "I'm Phoebe, and this is Rachel.  We're here about the rooms?"

"Huh?" the girl replied, her brow furrowed.  Rachel suddenly felt panic rising up through her.

Suddenly, a tall bald woman appeared behind the brunette.

"Pheebs!" the woman yelled, as she snaked around the brunette and hugged Phoebe.

"Hey Bonnie!" Phoebe smiled, and relief washed over Rachel.

"Bec, these are my friends from New York!" Bonnie said, turning to the brunette.

"Oh, hey, what's up?" Bec smiled lazily.

"I thought there were three of you?" Bonnie asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, Monica's down at the van," Phoebe said, "Motion…or maybe morning sickness."

"Oh, she's the pregnant one!  Okay, well, Becca and I will help you with your stuff, if you wanna help Monica into the house," Bonnie smiled and bounded down the steps.  Becca smiled lazily, and sauntered out onto the porch, her eyes half closed.

"So," Bonnie walked into the bedroom that Phoebe and Monica were sharing, "you guys up for a rally tonight?"

"Maybe," Phoebe looked at Monica, who was dozing off on her bed.

"Okay, well, we are leaving at 6:30 or so, so we can get to Civic Center by 7," Bonnie said, and drifted out of the room.

Phoebe sighed and looked around the room.  It wasn't a large room; in fact it barely held two beds. And the house was cold, because of the lack of carpeting (hardwood floors).  But it had an old-fashioned charm about it, and everyone seemed really nice.

There were three other women living in the house.  Bonnie and Becca shared a room, and Rachel was put in a room with the other woman, Carol.  The bedrooms, and the one bathroom, sat along a long narrow corridor that led to the spacious, well-lit kitchen, and a small living room.  There were beads in most of the doorways, and political posters covering may walls.  Bongs and rolling papers were scattered throughout the house, and organic, vegetarian foods filled the kitchen.

While Phoebe knew that she would love it here, she wondered how long her friends would last.

Rachel was lying on her bed, drifting into a light sleep, when she heard a slight commotion in the room.  Her eyes shot open, and she sat up, only to find a thin blonde woman rummaging through a pile of clothes that were in the opposite corner of the room.  The woman turned when she heard Rachel wake.

"Oh, hey, sorry…I was trying not to wake you," the woman smiled apologetically.

"Oh, no, it's okay, I was only half-sleeping," Rachel smiled, and stood up.

"I'm Rachel Green."

"Hi Rachel, I'm Carol Willick, your roommate," Carol replied sweetly.

"Nice to meet you," Rachel said.

"So, Rachel, where are you from?"

"New York.  I just arrived with my friends Phoebe and Monica.  I guess Phoebe and Bonnie know each other?"

"Oh, yeah, they met at some rally in New York a couple months ago," Carol said distractedly, as she set about looking for whatever-it-was-she-was-looking-for.

"So, how did you end up here?" Rachel asked.

"My girlfriend is from here, and we decided that we liked the weather better out here.  I'm from New York too," Carol laughed.

"Oh!  So, you, um—I mean—" Rachel stuttered nervously.

"Am I gay?  Well…I swing both ways, but then, doesn't everybody?" Carol laughed.

"Um—" Rachel bit her lip anxiously.

"I'm kidding, Rachel.  Don't worry, I'm not going to try to 'bring you over'," Carol laughed, and smiled proudly when she finally came upon what she had been searching for—her pipe.

"Okay, I gotta go, Susan's waiting.  By roomie!" Carol bounced out of the room waving.

"Bye," Rachel said to herself.

She wasn't so sure she was going to fit in here, after all.  Shaking her head, she pulled out her photo of Ross, and set it on the table next to her bed.  Letting a tiny tear escape from her eyes, she silently wondered what Ross would have thought about all of this.

_North Vietnam_

"Come on Private, we've gotta get out of here," the officer that had been carrying Ross stood up, and pulled Ross into the Jeep.

Ross was in too much shock to respond.  He stared back at the clearing, as the Jeep made it's way into South Vietnam.  Shivering slightly, Ross pulled his jacket around him, and fought back emotions he wasn't allowed to have out in the field.  He was a soldier; he had to stay strong.  But he couldn't help thinking of his sister, and of the men that had died to get him to safety.

What had he done that was so worthy of all this, anyway?

The sound of a revving engine roused Chandler back into consciousness.  He felt a throbbing, burning sensation on the back of his head.  He opened his eyes, only to discover that he was facedown in the muddy field.  He reached around to the back of his head, and winced as his fingers hit the wound.  He pulled his hand away, and looked at his bloodied fingers.  He sat up slowly, and took in his surroundings.

The clearing had been hit hard, but he could see that a few of the Viet Cong were moving, slightly, a sign that a few had survived.  He picked up his rifle, and slowly got to his feet.

The stench was unbelievable.  He covered his face with the crook of his arm, as he lumbered across the clearing, looking for Ross and Joey.  Everything seemed so hazy, and his head was pounding.

"Chandler," he heard a faint whisper from his left.  He turned, and scanned the area, his eyes finally falling on Joey, who was lying on his back a few meters away.  He limped over to him, and knelt at his side.

Chandler surveyed the damage; Joey had been closer to the explosion, and had sustained some bad injuries.  The side of his face had burns, and his arm was burnt too.  Wincing, Chandler looked down and noted that Joey was…missing a leg.

"Joe," Chandler whispered helplessly, as tears lined his eyes.

"Did, uh—did Ross get across?" Joey whispered.

Chandler wasn't sure where Ross was, but couldn't bring himself to tell Joey that.  Taking a deep breath, Chandler forced a smile and said, "Yeah, he's fine."

"Good," Joey sighed, and smiled slightly.

"You're gonna be okay," Chandler said sadly.

"Yeah, that's what people always say when you're about to die," Joey laughed.

Chandler closed his eyes, and grasped Joey's hand.  He didn't hear the rustling behind him, until it was too late.

_San Francisco_

"Phoebe, this is my friend, Chris.  Chris, this is Phoebe," Bonnie smiled.  Phoebe was the only one that agreed to go with Bonnie to the protest.  Monica was too tired, and Rachel seemed a little dazed from her meeting with her new roommate.  

When they reached Civic Center, Phoebe was surprised at how many people were milling around the steps of the City Hall.  Bonnie had led her to a group of Black Panthers, who were smoking pot and trying to look mean.

Chris was one of the Black Panthers.  He was tall, and lean, and his well-trimmed Afro sat about three inches from his head.  His teeth seemed to sparkle when he smiled, and Phoebe couldn't help but to smile back.

He was…amazing.

"So, Phoebe, where are you from?" Chris asked.

"New York," Phoebe yelled, as the protest grew more rowdy.

"Ah yes, got a lotta brothers in New York," Chris nodded.

"How about you?" Phoebe asked, as they made their way toward the steps of the City Hall.

"Chicago," Chris smiled, and Phoebe melted.

"Hey," Rachel walked into Phoebe and Monica's room, and sat on Monica's bed.

"Hey," Monica yawned, and closed the book she had been reading.

"How are ya feeling?" 

"Better.  But I wasn't in the mood for a protest," Monica smiled.

"Yeah, me either," Rachel said distractedly.

"What's up?" Monica asked, when she noticed the far-off look in Rachel's eyes.

"Oh, it's nothing, it's just…my roommate is…is gay," Rachel said, her eyes wide.

Monica laughed, "Yeah, I think Bonnie might be too," she said.

"Don't you find that…weird?" Rachel asked incredulously.

"Well, this is San Francisco," Monica smiled, "I'm sure you'll be fine," She continued, as she stood up and walked toward the door.  "Besides, you need to get out there and uh…experiment," Monica laughed heartily, and walked out toward the bathroom.

"Yeah, right," Rachel shook her head and laughed to herself.  She stood up, and looked out the window, sighing deeply.

"Well Rach," she whispered, "You ain't in Kansas anymore."

_If you're going to San Francisco_

_Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair_

_If you're going to San Francisco_

_You're gonna meet some gentle people there_

_For those who come to San Francisco_

_Summertime will be a love-in there_

_In the streets of San Francisco_

_Gentle people with flowers in their hair_

_All across the nation such a strange vibration_

_People in motion_

_There's a whole generation with a new explanation_

_People in motion people in motion_

For those who come to San Francisco 

_Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair_

_If you come to San Francisco_

_Summertime will be a love-in there_

_If you come to San Francisco_

_Summertime will be a love-in there_

_(San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair) - Scott McKenzie) _


	11. Chapter Ten: Above Us Only Sky

**AN: **_Becca—yes, I admit it, I stole your name!  Uh, I think I had just read your review, and I needed a name, and so…yeah.  Hope you don't mind your cameo in the story, lol!!  JenniGellerBing—I swear, I took the name of the last chapter from the song lyrics, not your very cute fic, LOL!!  Jess—Man, I WISH I were a professional writer!  Getting PAID to do what I love…how COOL would that be, huh?  *sigh*_

**Songnote: **_I have tried to keep the songs within the timeline that I am writing in, however the song used in this chapter was actually released in 1970.  I know you don't mind, right? ;)_

**Story Summary: **_Winter, 1966.  The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam.  Air Raids, Chemical Warfare, and strained international relations are affecting domestic opinion more than ever.  _

Monica, Rachel and Phoebe have arrived in San Francisco, and have already made new friends.  In Vietnam, Ross was injured in his attempt to cross the border, and a last minute bombing has him believing Joey and Chandler are dead.  As he heads to Saigon, Chandler finds a severely injured Joey moments before the Viet Cong find him.

_The Age of Aquarius_

_Chapter Ten: Above Us Only Sky_

~Two Weeks Later~

Saigon, South Vietnam 

The crudely made bamboo ceiling fan turned slowly, a never-ending circle, whipping the hot, sticky air through the uppermost areas of the overcrowded room.

Ross stared at the fan blankly, his mind on all that had happened since he'd left home.  He'd been holed up in a small, hard hospital bed since he'd reached Saigon, and he was getting more and more restless.  There were people here that needed the bed much more than he did; his injury—a bullet wound to the leg, and a slight concussion—seemed so trivial next to what he was seeing all around him—people with horrible wounds and infections, children missing limbs, soldiers missing faces.  It was becoming too much to bear.

Another soldier was placed on the bed next to his, and once again Ross' mind wandered to Joey and Chandler, and the situation he had put them in.  Guilt crept into him, and he swallowed it down again.  He wondered if they had survived the blast; he wondered if they were alive, and cursing him for leaving them.  His mind took him back to those days he'd spent, deep in the jungles, surrounded by hostile eyes.  He remembered watching Joey's confident gait, as he swung his machete through the thick foliage, his movements smooth and quick.  He remembered Chandler's quiet confidence, and the way his eyes had sparkled when he'd mentioned Monica.  

Monica.

Would Ross be the one to tell her?  Would he have to face her and tell her that Chandler had been killed guiding _him_ to safety?  Ross glanced over at the soldier that had been brought in moments earlier.  The man was asleep, or perhaps unconscious.  There was a deep gash over his left eye, and his arm was in a sling.  Ross wondered if this man was a hero—if he had sacrificed himself for the welfare of another.  

Ross lay back on his bed, and sighed deeply, as a profound sadness consumed him.

His eyes went again to the ceiling fan, still turning and turning, it's purpose evident; it's existence, simple.

If only his existence were so.

North Vietnam 

A constant, irritating dripping was coming from the ceiling, hitting the puddle below with a ragged, uneven rhythm that was driving him mad.

The rainwater was leaking through the thin, worn 'roof' of the small room.  The air was more damp than usual, and consequently, the dirt floor was turning to mud.  

Chandler watched through half-closed eyes, as another dirty droplet of water threatened to fall from the ceiling, and hit the growing puddle again.

He'd been in this room for an immeasurable amount of time, drifting between consciousness and darkness.  He was vaguely aware that his captors had healed his initial head wound, a curious move considering the beatings he had been taking ever since.  They seemed to be grilling him for information, but between their inability to speak English, and his limited knowledge of Vietnamese, the interrogations were not going well.  

Chandler attempted to sit up, wincing as a searing pain shot through his head.  For a moment, there was silence—Chandler was acutely aware of his own labored breathing.  He focused on it, trying his best to concentrate; he needed to figure out how to get away from this place. He closed his eyes, and reveled in the silence that engulfed him.  His mind wandered, and struggled to recall how he'd gotten to this place.  He remembered yelling at Ross.  Then there was a horrible noise…and a flash.  The smell…the smell would follow him for the rest of his life.  It was the most repugnant thing he'd ever experienced.  Burning flesh, and…death.  Death surrounded him, shadowing him like an obsidian shroud.  Then there was the haunting image of the bodies.  And Joey.

Joey.  He'd been burned, mauled…near death.  He remembered talking to him—telling him everything was going to be all right.

But it wasn't all right. There had been a noise, the cocking of a gun…and darkness.  

Darkness engulfed him, and he lingered there, comforted by the warmth of the unknown.

When he emerged from the darkness, he found himself in the worst possible situation.

The prisoner of a war where all rules had been broken.

The images of the recent days were too disturbing, and too painful for words.  Chandler let his mind drift away from the now.  He thought about New York, and Phoebe, and Joey, and their lives before this horrible war had torn them all apart.

But mostly, he thought about Monica.

He wondered where she was, and what she was doing.  He wondered if she was happy.

He wondered if she thought about him half as much as he thought about her.

He smiled, despite all that was happening, and all that would happen.

In the silence that enveloped him, he found comfort in his memories.

Then, as though it was trying to mock him, a droplet of water slipped from the ceiling, and hit the puddle in the corner, shattering the sweet silence.

San Francisco, California 

Phoebe looked up at the address number again, before making her way into the dilapidated, South of Market warehouse, a small smile pursing her lips.  Things had been going well with Chris, and she was more that happy to help him with his cause, if it meant that she was able to spend more time with him.  She walked through the dimly lit warehouse, her heart racing as the people that filled the room watched her cross the room, skepticism and resentment lining their eyes.

Phoebe tried her best to ignore the hard stares and silent judgments—after all, it was something that she and Chris needed to get used to, if they wanted to make their relationship work.

Phoebe couldn't understand why the people that worked with Chris couldn't accept their relationship.  She'd expected people on the street to react badly to an interracial relationship, but she'd hoped that these zealous members of the Black Panthers could see past the color of her skin, and accept her as a person—especially since she was so willing to help out with their cause.

"Hey, gorgeous," Chris flashed his heart-stopping smile, and pulled Phoebe toward him.

"Hi," Phoebe said softly, her nervousness about the grave stares of the other people in the room.

"What's wrong?" Chris asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

Phoebe glanced over her shoulder, then back at Chris, "Nothing," she smiled, and kissed Chris.

"I'm glad you're here," Chris smiled, and released his hold on her, "We have a lot to finish before tomorrow's protest."

"Okay, what can I do?" Phoebe shoved her nervousness away, and followed Chris toward a long table in the center of the room.

"Well, you can work on these signs," Chris pointed to a set of large posters and a set of markers, "You can work with Alexandria here."

"Okay," Phoebe smiled, and extended her hand toward the large, angry-looking black woman that was standing next to her, "Hi, I'm Phoebe," she said.

"Hi," Alexandria said, and took Phoebe's hand, as Chris turned to walk away.  As soon as he turned away, Alexandria dropped Phoebe's hand as if it were diseased.

"So, what are we working on?" Phoebe asked.

"Look bitch," Alexandria hissed, I don't know what you think you're doing, but we don't need some little white princess comin' in here, foolin' with Chris' head.  We've got enough to deal with, you know?"

"I—I don't, um—"

"Yeah, you think you can just swoop in here, some Great White Hope, and make everything better.  We know what we need to do, bitch, we don't need—"

"Look," Phoebe interrupted harshly, startling both herself and Alexandria, "When I met Chris, I wasn't looking at his skin, I was looking at his…smile.  I know you don't want me here, but Chris does, and that's all I care about!"

Alexandria opened her mouth to protest, but closed it quickly, and stepped back to look Phoebe up and down.  A large smile broke onto her face, and she laughed heartily.

"Yeah, he does have a fantastic smile," Alexandria mused, and shook her head, "Alright, _string bean_, let's make some signs."

Phoebe relaxed visibly, and smiled.  "Okay!" she said, and grabbed a green marker.

Monica stared up at the star-studded sky, and reveled in the rare silence that surrounded her.  The house was usually a flurry of activity, and the street was usually filled with cars and people.  Tonight, however, no one was around, and Monica took the opportunity to sit out on the front porch, and stare at the stars.

She rubbed her bulging tummy protectively, and wondered where Chandler was, and what he was doing.  She wanted desperately to get in contact with him, but had no idea how.  She sighed sadly, when she realized that she didn't even know if he was still alive.  She felt her baby move, and looked back down at her stomach, smiling.

"What's the matter, baby?" she whispered.

"Hey," Rachel said, as she shuffled up the front steps, with several shopping bags in her hands.

"Hey, Rach," Monica smiled, as the baby moved again, "whoa!"

"What's the matter?" Rachel rushed up the last few steps, and set down her bags, before sitting next to Monica.

"Oh, nothing…the baby's just…restless tonight," Monica smiled reassuringly.

"Oh.  Well, let me take these bags in, and I'll cook some dinner.  You want some milk?" Rachel asked, as she walked up to the door.

"Yeah, that'd be great, Rach, thanks," Monica called.  The baby kicked, and Monica looked back down at her bump.  "What is wrong in there?" she wondered aloud.  What was her baby trying to tell her?

North Vietnam 

The small, Vietnamese man in the dark uniform laughed, when his prisoner cried out in pain.  He had the American soldier tied to a chair, and seemed to be enjoying that days little torture session.  They had him on a small bamboo chair, his feet tied to the back legs of the chair, and his arms tied behind him.  The tiny torturer's partner was a fat, oily man with a thin mustache.  He continued to scream at the man in Vietnamese, as the small one struck the prisoner with a thin, razor sharp whip.

The prisoner cried out in pain, but refused to speak.  The small man whipped the prisoner once more, before moving across the room to consult with his partner.

Chandler struggled to catch his breath, and was vaguely aware that the two interrogators had moved away from him, and were speaking in low whispers.  They seemed to be arguing with one another.  As his sweat mixed with his wounds, Chandler had to concentrate to keep from crying.  The pain seemed to be intensifying, and eventually, the hushed argument across the room faded, and he was engulfed by the darkness.

When he awoke again, he was alone in another room.  He tried to look around, but one of his eyes seemed to be sealed shut.  His arms and legs were still bound, though he was no longer attached to the chair.  He struggled to sit up, but his bound arms and legs threw off his balance, and he tumbled back onto the ground.

He struggled to breathe, and as he took in some moist oxygen, his lungs convulsed, and he let out a ragged cough.  The violence of the motion set his already screaming gashes on fire, and he winced.

A slow, soft moan emanated from the far corner of the room.  Chandler froze, and tried to search the bleak darkness with his eyes.  He slowly rolled to his back, and then to his other side, as another groan surfaced.  

"Hello?" Chandler called out into the darkness.

"Mmmph," came the reply.

Chandler squinted, as his eyes struggled to adjust to the dark.  He made out a hunched, lifeless form—it was a man—perhaps another prisoner?  The man looked up slowly, and Chandler started, as his eyes locked on his cellmate's.

"Joey."

_Imagine there's no heaven_

_It's easy if you try_

_No hell below us_

_Above us only sky_

_Imagine all the people_

_Living for today... _

_Imagine there's no countries_

_It isn't hard to do_

_Nothing to kill or die for_

_And no religion too_

_Imagine all the people_

_Living life in peace... _

_You may say I'm a dreamer_

_But I'm not the only one_

_I hope someday you'll join us_

_And the world will be as one _

_Imagine no possessions_

_I wonder if you can_

_No need for greed or hunger_

_A brotherhood of man_

_Imagine all the people_

_Sharing all the world... _

_You may say I'm a dreamer_

_But I'm not the only one_

_I hope someday you'll join us_

_And the world will live as one _

_"Imagine", John Lennon _


	12. Chapter Eleven: The Sound of Silence

**AN: I'm _so_ sorry for the delay.  I know where I want to go with this, but I am having a little trouble _getting_ to that place.  And between this nasty cough that just won't go away, and my war protesting, I've been one busy little hippie.  So I apologize for this chapter in advance. **

**Story Summary:** _Winter, 1966.  The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam.  Air Raids, Chemical Warfare, and strained international relations are affecting domestic opinion more than ever.  _

_Ross ponders his own existence in Saigon, while Chandler makes a startling discovery while in a Viet Cong prison.  In San Francisco, Phoebe struggles with the prejudices against her new relationship, and Monica faces the realities of her pregnancy._

_The Age of Aquarius_

_Chapter Eleven: The Sound of Silence_

~North Vietnam~

Chandler squinted, as his eyes struggled to adjust to the dark.  He made out a hunched, lifeless form—it was a man—perhaps another prisoner?  The man looked up slowly, and Chandler started, as his eyes locked on his cellmate's.

"Joey."

"Chandler?"

"Yeah.  A-are you okay?  I thought you—you were dead," Chandler's voice was raspy, and filled with concern.

"Funny, I was gonna say the same thing to you.  They brought me here…I don't know what they want.  I…I just wanna get out of here," Joey said, before a set of coughs racked through him.

"I'm gonna get us out of here," Chandler said, his voice full of confidence.  Inside, he wondered just where all of this confidence had come from.  He had no idea where they were, much less where they'd go.

Behind the walls that held them, time seemed to stand still.  Chandler guessed that it must have been winter, judging by the cold air that filled their cell late at night.  

Like they had with Chandler, the Viet Cong had tried to heal Joey's initial wounds, in hopes of getting information out of him.  But Joey's injuries had been much more severe, and Chandler feared that he would not last much longer without proper medical treatment.  He did his best to keep Joey warm during the chilly, foggy nights, and he did his best to draw attention to himself, in hopes that the Viet Cong would leave Joey alone.

Whenever they weren't being interrogated or tortured, Chandler and Joey worked on their escape plan.  The fact that Joey was unable to walk was a huge hindrance, and both soldiers knew it.  But Chandler was determined to get them both out of the camp alive.

No matter what.

Two weeks later, Chandler felt that he was strong enough to implement their plan.  It had been several days since he had been tortured, and Chandler took that as a sign that their captors had been distracted by something else.  

And he was right.  Late that night, as Chandler worked his wrists out of the tightly knotted ropes that bound them, he heard the familiar popping of gunfire, far off in the distance.  He pulled his right wrist free, wincing when he aggravated his deep rope burns.  Slowly, quietly, he untied the bindings on his ankles, then scooted toward Joey, and freed his wrists.

Careful not to aggravate Joey's injuries, Chandler pulled his friend onto his shoulder, and tugged at the thin wallboards that he and Joey had loosened over the past several days.  He pushed his way through the small opening, and crouched down onto the ground, unmoving, so as not to attract attention to himself and Joey.

Chandler scanned the area quickly, and noted that they were a mere fifty yards from the perimeter of the jungle.  He steadied himself, scanned the darkened area once more, and then made a break for it.

Fifty yards felt more like fifty miles.  Chandler heard more gunfire, as he and Joey entered the thick foliage.  He moved swiftly through the trees, his breathing heavy and steady.  

More popping.  Chandler turned, and headed toward the gunfire.

"Chandler," Joey whispered, "Are you heading _toward _the noise?"

"Yeah," Chandler huffed.

"Uh, do you think—"

"The Viet Cong are clearly fighting _someone_.  If we head that way, we may come upon a friendly platoon," Chandler explained between breaths.

"Unless they find us first," Joey argued, and ducked his head as they came upon a low-lying tree branch.

Chandler didn't reply.  He knew that he was taking an enormous risk, but he didn't have a choice; he had no idea where they were, and he couldn't carry Joey around forever.

Twenty minutes later, Chandler realized that he could no longer sustain a steady pace with Joey on his shoulders.  He found a small clearing, and gingerly placed Joey on the ground next to him, before dropping to his knees.

"Are you okay?" Chandler asked.

"Yeah, fine.  How are you?" Joey asked, as Chandler struggled to catch his breath.

"Tired.  You are really fucking heavy," Chandler grinned.

"Chandler, I—" Joey stopped suddenly, when he heard a small rustling in the trees.

It was then that Chandler realized their fatal mistake; they were totally unarmed, and deep in enemy territory.

The rustling grew closer, and Chandler stood up, his head spinning and his heart pounding furiously.  He placed himself in front of Joey, and prepared for the worst.

~San Francisco~

"The baby's movement is completely normal Monica.  You are doing just fine," the clinic doctor smiled reassuringly, and watched as Monica and Rachel visibly relaxed.

The baby's constant movement had kept Monica up all night, and eventually, Monica decided that she needed to see someone.  Bonnie had given her the name of a doctor that worked in a small clinic in the Mission District, and Rachel had accompanied her to the clinic the next morning.

"But I'd like to schedule some regular checkups with you, and I want you to start drinking more milk.  You're entering your final trimester; it's very important that you take extra-special care of yourself, okay?" The doctor stood up and helped Monica to her feet.

"I will doctor, and thank you!" Monica smiled.

"Is everything alright?" Bonnie asked, as Monica and Rachel walked into the house an hour later.

"Yeah, everything is normal," Monica huffed, the trip up the front steps wearing her out.

"C'mon into the kitchen; Becca is making lunch," Bonnie smiled.

**~**

Rachel sank deeper into the ratty brown sofa, one eye on her book, the other surreptitiously, watching Carol and Susan.  The couple was sitting on the other side of the room, holding hands and speaking softly.

She missed that.  The loving gaze, the comfort of warm arms wrapped around her, the feeling of love that surrounded her, whenever she was with him.

She'd struggled not to think about Ross constantly.  He had been dead for months now, yet she couldn't seem to let him go, and she couldn't understand why.

Carol giggled, and Rachel's attention once more focused on her friends.

Perhaps it wasn't just Ross she was missing; perhaps she just really wanted that companionship again.

She closed her eyes, and let her mind drift to better times.

_"What are you doing?" Ross chuckled, as he watched Rachel press her hand against his._

_They were laying on a blanket, under a towering Oak tree in Central Park.  _

_"Your hands are so much larger than mine," Rachel grinned._

_"Well, I am a guy," Ross laughed._

_"Yeah," Rachel sighed, and snuggled closer to Ross.  For a long moment, they lay together in a comfortable silence._

_"It's starting to cool off," Ross muttered a minute later, his arms tightening around Rachel._

_"Yeah?" Rachel whispered honestly, "I hadn't noticed."_

Carol stood up, and walked into the kitchen.  Rachel shook herself from her reverie, and tried to concentrate on her book.  Susan stood up, and crossed the room.

"Hey Rachel," she smiled, and plopped down on the sofa.

"Hey Susan," Rachel put her book on her lap, and smiled.

"I know we haven't known each other long, but I get the feeling that something is disturbing you, and I wanted to see if I could help."

Rachel was taken aback by Susan's offer, but eventually shook her head and looked back down at her closed book.

"Does mine and Carol's relationship still bother you?" Susan asked softly.

"What?  No, no, nothing like that," Rachel shook her head vehemently.

"Is it Ross?" Carol asked.  Off of Rachel's confused look, she clarified, "Monica told me.  I'm so sorry."

"Thanks.  I—" Rachel shook her head.

"What is it?"

"I guess I just thought…I'd be able to move on out here.  I thought that eventually…it would hurt less, ya know?"

"Maybe…maybe you need some kind of closure," Susan shrugged.

"Closure…yeah, maybe you're right," Rachel smiled broadly.

"I mean, it may help, it may not…but you'll never move on until you resolve your feelings for Ross, and for his death."

"You're right, Susan.  Thank you," Rachel pulled Susan into a fierce hug.

"Hey, get your own girlfriend Ms. Green," Carol laughed, as she walked back into the common room a moment later.

Rachel and Susan pulled apart, laughing.

~North Vietnam~

The trees seemed to be rustling all around them.  Chandler's eyes darted around the jungle, while his heart raced.

The rustling grew louder, and Chandler scanned the ground, and found a large stick.  He grabbed it quickly, and held it in front of him as if it were a sword.

A moment later, a tall man pushed through the foliage, his gun extended and his eyes wide with fear and anticipation.

Chandler relaxed slightly, and lowered his stick.

"Private, you have no idea how happy we are to see you," Chandler grinned at the soldier.

"Name and rank?" the soldier asked robotically.  Chandler noted tensely that the man had not lowered his weapon.

"Lieutenant Chandler Bing, and this is Private Joey Tribianni.  We were with the 42nd infantry unit up until our capture several weeks ago," Chandler said sternly, his eyes never leaving the soldier's.

The Private lowered his weapon and stood at attention.  Chandler found his automated behavior mildly disturbing.

"Sir, my apologies sir," the man saluted.

"Are you nuts?  Put your arm down, Private!" Chandler hissed.

"S-sorry sir," the Private muttered, and lowered his arm.

"You never salute out here.  Are you trying to get me killed?" Chandler whispered irritably.  When the man didn't reply, he sighed deeply.

"Is this your first mission, Private?"

"Y-yes, sir-uh, yes," the man stuttered.

"What's your name?" Chandler's tone softened.

"Private Paul Hughes, sir," the man replied.

"Okay Paul, look, my friend Joey here is seriously injured.  I need you to take us to your commander, or to whatever unit is closest, okay?"

Paul looked down at Joey, and his eyes widened in horror.  He stood, frozen in place for several moments more.

"Private, please focus, okay?  How far to your unit?"

Paul broke out of his trance, and looked back at Chandler.

"There's uh, there's a chopper coming in about uh, 20 minutes to pick up some of our unit.  We encountered some Charlie's and sustained heavy casualties.  I can take you to the planned rendezvous point."

"Perfect," Chandler smiled, "take us there."

~San Francisco~

Rachel stood at the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean, her arms wrapped tightly around her.  She closed her eyes, and let the wind sweep through her, as memories of Ross overwhelmed her.  Opening her tear-filled eyes, she looked down at her right hand, and opened it slowly.

The locket glimmered in the fading light of day, and Rachel recalled the Christmas that Ross had given her the precious gift.  They had only been dating for a few months, but Ross had insisted that it was perfect for her.

The locket had faded a bit with time and wear.  But it was still beautiful, and still carried with it wonderful memories.

Memories that Rachel needed to let go of, if she was ever going to move on.

Kissing the locket gingerly, Rachel looked up at the setting sun, her eyes scanning the brilliant display of reds, oranges and purples that covered the sky.  Her heart contracted, and her eyes filled with tears, as she took a deep breath, and threw the locket into the wild waters below.

~North Vietnam~

The chopper arrived as scheduled, and Paul, Chandler and Joey arrived at the small field just as the medics were loading the last of the passengers.

"Wait!  We have three more," Paul waved, as the trio approached, an unconscious Joey on Chandler's shoulders.

"There's no way, Private.  We can fit two at most."

Paul looked back at Chandler and Joey, as Chandler looked up at the medic.

"You need to take this man, he's lost a lot of blood, and has been imprisoned for several weeks."

"Lieutenant, you should go too," Paul yelled over the choppers engines.

Chandler looked at the Private, and realized that this man would never make it out in the jungle alone.

"Captain," Chandler yelled into the helicopter, "Give me the coordinates for the next nearest unit, and tell them I'll be coming."

"But sir," Paul argued.

A sudden stream of bullets cut the conversation short, as one of the bullets hit Paul in the chest.

Chandler threw himself to the ground, and grabbed Paul's weapons and rations.  He helped get Paul into the chopper, as the Captain tossed Chandler a walkie-talkie and the coordinates to the next closest unit.  Chandler found cover behind a nearby tree, and watched as the chopper began to lift off.

"I'm sorry Lieutenant," the medic yelled, as the chopper turned and flew off, leaving Chandler behind.

_Hello darkness, my old friend,_

_I've come to talk with you again,_

_Because a vision softly creeping,_

_Left its seeds while I was sleeping,_

_And the vision that was planted in my brain_

_Still remains_

_Within the sound of silence._

_In restless dreams I walked alone_

_Narrow streets of cobblestone,_

_'Neath the halo of a street lamp,_

_I turned my collar to the cold and damp_

_When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light_

_That split the night_

_And touched the sound of silence._

_And in the naked light I saw_

_Ten thousand people, maybe more._

_People talking without speaking,_

_People hearing without listening,_

_People writing songs that voices never share_

_And no one dare_

_Disturb the sound of silence._

_"Fools" said I, "You do not know_

_Silence like a cancer grows._

_Hear my words that I might teach you,_

_Take my arms that I might reach you."_

_But my words like silent raindrops fell,_

_And echoed_

_In the wells of silence_

_And the people bowed and prayed_

_To the neon god they made._

_And the sign flashed out its warning,_

_In the words that it was forming._

_And the sign said, "The words of the prophets _

_ are written on the subway walls_

_And tenement halls."_

_And whisper'd in the sounds of silence._

_("The Sound of Silence", written by Paul Simon, ©1964)_


	13. Chapter Twelve: Blowing In the Wind

**Story Summary**: _Winter, 1966/1967.  By year's end, U.S. troop levels reach 463,000 with 16,000 combat deaths to date. By this time, over a million American soldiers have rotated through Vietnam.  The capital city of Saigon is under fire, and the VC's Tet Offensive will turn the tide of the entire war. (See notes below fic.)_

_In Vietnam, Chandler has been left to fend for himself, after getting a severely injured Joey to safety.  Rachel has finally let Ross go, Phoebe struggles with prejudices against her relationship with a Black Panther, and Monica prepares to welcome her child into the world._

**_The Age of Aquarius_**

_Chapter Twelve: Blowing In The Wind_

**Saigon, Vietnam**

Ross stared into the half-empty glass of Chinese beer, his eyes unfocussed and heavy.  It had become a habit of his, to drink his ennui and lonesomeness away nightly.

Saigon was in chaos, and the situation was deteriorating daily.  The Embassy was on high alert, but for Ross, most days were generally uneventful.

He dealt mostly with paperwork; letters and forms that flowed in and out of the country daily.

It was mundane, and quiet, and frustrating.  Ross felt like he would be more useful out in the field, killing Charlie's.

Deep down, his bitterness had nothing to do with masculine pride.  He was harboring a deep-seeded guilt, which no amount of alcohol seemed to quell.

Three soldiers…three men died, so that he could sit in a dank office, pushing papers all day.

The images would haunt him during the day, and would invade his dreams at night.  After weeks of wandering the streets of Saigon in an aimless reverie, he found that he was able to sleep better if he was horribly, horribly drunk.  So more and more, he found himself inside a small, dank bar, near the Embassy, alone with his alcohol.

"Alone again?" a soft voice pulled Ross out of his thoughts, and his eyes off of his beer.  He looked up to find a petite, wide-eyed Vietnamese girl staring down at him.

"Always," Ross sighed, and looked back down at his beer, before taking another swig.

"You want a company?" the woman asked in her broken English.

Ross shrugged, and looked around the room.  There were soldiers scattered throughout the bar, and nearly all of them had a petite Vietnamese girl on their arm.

"You have a ten dallah?"

"What?" Ross looked back at the girl who had now taken a seat next to him.

"A ten dallah," the woman said again, then off of Ross' confused look, "Monay?"

"Oh," Ross finally caught on, "yeah, ten dollars," he slurred.

"Come on," the woman pulled Ross to his feet, and when he swayed slightly, she wrapped her skinny arm around his waist, and led him out of the bar.

**San Francisco**

"I can't believe its January," Phoebe whispered, as she looked up into the clear night sky, "it doesn't _feel_ like January."

"Well, it always tends to be colder here in _summer_," Chris laughed, and wrapped his long arms around Phoebe from behind.  They stood together, unmoving, for a long moment, silently watching the glittering stars.

The moment was calm and serene, and so different from what the chaotic day had entailed.  As they stood on the front porch of Phoebe's home, both pondered the events that had transpired.

Though anti-war protests were common in San Francisco, the group of Black Panthers that Chris led always brought with it a certain volatility.  Perhaps it was because it was well known that the group was looking for much more than just peace; perhaps it was the way they dressed: their all black wardrobe and black wool berets often aroused a certain amount of uneasiness, even amongst the hippy set.

Phoebe noted that, as the only white face in the group, she received the most puzzled stares, and the most hateful glances. 

She felt safest in Chris' arms.  She could not even recall her life before Chris: what had she really stood for?  What had she been fighting for?  With Chris, there was no doubt.  He was determined to be heard, to make 'the man' see who they were.  Phoebe admired Chris; she worshipped him.  She would do anything, to make him see that this was her fight too, and that together, they could take on the world.

Chris' feelings for Phoebe were unexpected.  He wasn't sure what it was about Phoebe that drew him to her, but now that he knew her, he loved her unconditionally.  Her openness and her willingness to learn fueled his growing ego, while her determination and drive fueled his mind.  As for his libido…well, Phoebe was all he needed.  

He tightened his arms around her, and laid a soft kiss on her exposed neck.  She felt him relax into his arms, and he closed his eyes, willing away all of their problems, to live in the moment.

That moment was shattered, when a car rumbled down the street, projecting a Molotov cocktail as it passed.

Chris saw it first; he pulled Phoebe toward the house, as the bottle exploded on impact.

It ignited the weeds and wooden steps almost immediately.  Phoebe screamed, as Chris scrambled to his feet, and pulled Phoebe into the house.

"Is anyone else here?" Chris asked calmly.

"I--I don't--" Phoebe stuttered, unable to form a coherent thought.

"Hello?" Chris turned and yelled down the long hallway.

"What the hell was that?" Rachel came scrambling out of her room, followed closely by a sleepy-eyed Carol.

"The house is on fire.  Is anyone else here?" Chris asked.

"Monica…and I think Becca is upstairs," Rachel said, as she made her way into Monica's room.

"Mon?  Mon, you need to wake up," Rachel shook Monica's shoulder lightly.

"Hmph," Monica mumbled, and turned over.

"Mon, please, the house is on fire!"

Monica's eyes shot open, and she looked at Rachel incredulously.

"Mon, I'm serious, the front porch it totally on fire!  We need to go!"

"Okay," Monica sat up slowly, and let Rachel lead her out of her bedroom.

As the exited the bedroom, they saw that the entire front end of the house was engulfed in flames.

"Oh God, okay, um, we're gonna have to go out the back, come on!" Rachel started down the hallway.  She turned and saw that Monica had not moved from the staircase.

"Mon, what are you doing?  Come on!"

"Rach," Monica cried, and doubled over.

Rachel rushed back toward Monica and placed her hand on Monica's back.

"Honey, what is it?"

"The…baby…" Monica hiccupped, "the baby is c-coming!"

"Oh, okay, uh—" Rachel looked around, "Phoebe!  Becca!"

"Rach!" Carol came running down the hallway, "Come on!"

"Monica's having the baby!"

"Okay, we have to get her out of the house!  Come on!"

Rachel and Carol each wrapped an arm around Monica, and guided her toward the kitchen, and out the back door.

"Owww!" Monica grabbed Rachel roughly, as another contraction burst through her.

"Okay, hon, it's gonna be okay, I promise," Rachel guided Monica to the ground, and held her head on her lap, "You're gonna be fine."

**North Vietnam**

He pushed his way through the thick foliage, ignoring his sore muscles and throbbing head.  He was exhausted, but he knew that he had to keep moving; if he stopped, he risked falling asleep. And if he fell asleep, he risked the possibility that a Charlie would find and kill him—or worse, capture him again.  

The rain was beginning to get heavier, and it was slowing him down considerably.

By his estimates, he figured that the unit he was looking for should be approximately five kilometers east.  As the rain increased, he pushed forward, hoping that the storm hadn't turned him around.

He checked, then rechecked his coordinates, then looked around the clearing warily.  He was sure he was in the right place…but where was everyone?  The unit was supposed to be here…and there was evidence that there had been a camp here at one point—but now he was surrounded by nothing.

Standing in the center of the clearing, the storm raging around him, Chandler wondered how he was ever going to get out of this alive.

_How many roads must a man walk down_

_Before they call him a man_

_How many seas must a white dove sail_

_Before she sleeps in the sand_

_How many times must the cannonballs fly_

_Before they are forever banned_

_The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind_

_The answer is blowing in the wind_

_How many years must a mountain exist_

_Before it is washed to the sea_

_How many years can some people exist_

_Before they're allowed to be free_

_How many times can a man turn his head_

_And pretend that he just doesn't see_

_The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind_

_The answer is blowing in the wind_

_How many times must a man look up_

_Before he can see the sky_

_How many years must one man have_

_Before he can hear people cry_

_How many deaths will it take till he knows_

_That too many people have died_

_The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind_

_The answer is blowing in the wind_

_(Blowin' in the Wind ~ Joan Baez)_

**Footnotes:**_  **The Tet Offensive: January 31, 1968 - The turning point of the war occurs as 84,000 Viet Cong guerrillas aided by NVA troops launch the Tet Offensive attacking a hundred cities and towns throughout South Vietnam. **_

_(www.thehistoryplace.com)_


	14. Chapter Thirteen: I Still Miss Someone

**See previous chapter for Story Summary.**

**AN: This chapter focuses pretty much on ****Chandler**** and Monica (shocking, I know!) but I am gonna try this new thing where I focus a bit more on one or two character stories at a time, instead of three or four.  So this'll be C/M, then I may move on to Ross next chapter.  Make sense?  Great.  Okay, so if I proceed this way, this damn fic is gonna be like 30 chapters, lol.  Sorry bout that.**

**_The Age of Aquarius_**

_Chapter Thirteen: I Still Miss Someone_

_At my door the leaves are falling _

_A cold wild wind has come_

_Sweethearts walk by together_

_And I still miss someone_

**San Francisco******

"Okay, sweetie, _breathe_, c'mon, just _breathe_—"

"Rachel, shut up!" Monica growled, as another contraction peaked.

"Sorry, sorry," Rachel smiled patiently, as Monica released her death-grip on her hand.

"Ooh, I can't do this, Rach," Monica's demeanor changed suddenly and dramatically, just as it had every few moments for the past couple of hours.

"Oh, Mon yes you can!  You can do this!"

"Where's Chandler?" Monica moaned.

"Um, well, he—I don't know hon, but I'm sure we'll be able to find him…ow!"

"I don't want him!  I hate him for doing this to me!  I hope he rots in _hell_!"

"Okay, well, that's not-not Chandler's hand, Mon, that's mine," Rachel grimaced.

"Monica, how are we feeling?" a masked doctor came floating into the hospital room moments later.

"Ahhh!" Monica screamed and twisted Rachel's hand, causing her to scream with Monica.

"Wow, okay," the doctor laughed, as she sat down to check on Monica.

"Get it out!" Monica screamed.

"Okay, you're doing fine, Monica.  And it looks like you're fully dilated, so I want you to try and relax."

"Is that supposed to be funny?" Monica asked incredulously.

"Not at all, sweetie.  Okay, are you ready?  On your next contraction, I want you to push, okay?"

Monica nodded silently, and her face scrunched up, as a contraction hit her.

"Push, Monica!"

*

Two hours later, Monica's pain-filled cries were replaced by the shaky cries of a newborn.

"You did it, Monica, and you have a beautiful baby boy!"

"Oh Mon!  Look it's a boy!  Oh look he has a little tiny pee pee and everything!" Rachel gushed.

"Oh, let me see," Monica sobbed, as a nurse brought the swathed baby toward her.

"He's so perfect," Monica smiled.

"Do we have a name yet?" the doctor asked quietly.

"Not yet," Monica whispered.

"We'll call him Baby Geller then," the doctor smiled.

"Okay," Monica said, then stopped for a moment.  "No, Baby Bing," she smiled.

"Mon, are you sure?" Rachel asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Monica looked down at the newborn, "he looks so much like Chandler…and what if Chandler doesn't…I mean, I just want his name carried on," Monica finished somberly.

"Baby Bing it is," the doctor smiled.

*

She was exhausted, but she couldn't stop staring at the baby that she held in her arms.  She was amazed that she had been able to do something so incredible, and stunned at how much the little boy looked exactly like his father.

The tiny baby's eyes fluttered open, and looked up at his mother brightly.

"Hi there little one," Monica whispered, smiling, "I'm your mommy, and I love you more than anything in the world."

The baby yawned, and closed his big blue eyes again.  Monica kissed his forehead tenderly, and placed him in the small bassinet that had been rolled next to her hospital bed.

"What would your daddy think of all this?" Monica wondered to herself.  She sighed, and sat back on her bed slightly.  Reality was beginning to set in for her.  How was she going to do this alone?  What if she told Chandler, and he wanted nothing to do with them?  Or worse, what if he never came back from Vietnam?  Closing her eyes, she swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat.

She could do this; she could raise her son by herself.

Couldn't she?

**North Vietnam******

The wind whipped through the trees ferociously, propelling sheets of rain in every direction.  Chandler pushed his way through the thick foliage, refusing to believe that he had completely lost his sense of direction, as he moved deeper into the jungles.

He'd been heading south, hoping to run across any Friendly's before night fell.  But the storm had brought with it an ominous darkness and Chandler was struggling to see what was ahead of him.  His body was screaming, and his head was throbbing, but his primal instinct to simply survive kept him moving through the sharp downpour.  

For hours, he fought against the storm, against his own body's protests, against the risk that Charlie's could be anywhere.

Eventually, his body refused to comply further.  He collapsed against a tree, and sunk to the muddy floor below.

His vision blurred, and he felt the cool arms of darkness overwhelm him.

**San Francisco******

"Hey," Rachel knocked softly on the door, as she slipped into Monica's room, "how are you?"

Monica looked up at Rachel, a pained expression lining her tired face.  Baby Bing was firmly attached to his mother's breast.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asked, concerned.  She rushed toward Monica, and sat down on a plastic chair next to the bed.

"Oh, n-nothing, really," Monica smiled slightly, "It just…hurts, you know?"

"What?  What hurts?"

Monica motioned down toward her chest, and Rachel's eyes lit up in comprehension.

"Oooh.  It really hurts?"

"Yeah it—Ow!" Monica winced and pulled the baby away from her slightly.  The baby squirmed and whined in protest, until Monica reluctantly pulled him back toward her.

"So," Rachel shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and tore her eyes away from the nursing baby, "have you thought of a name yet?"

"No…I was thinking of naming him after Chandler, but I don't think Chandler likes his name much," Monica giggled.

"What's his middle name?"

"I...I don't know," Monica shrugged.

"Hmm.  How about Richard?  You could call him Ritchie?"

Monica scrunched up her nose, and shook her head.

"Holden?  Bradley?  Lawrence?" Rachel rattled off more names, and Monica cringed at each more and more.

"What about Jack?" Rachel smiled.

Monica shrugged, and ignored the pain in her heart that accompanied the mention of her father's name.

"Joshua? Jake? Jakob?"

"I like Jakob," Monica grinned, and looked down at her son, "Jakob," she whispered softly.

**North Vietnam******

He saw her, smiling at him, caressing his cheek lovingly with her soft hand.  He sighed, and looked up at her affectionately.

"Mom," he whispered, and smiled softly.

His mother said nothing; she simply smiled at him, and held her to him.

He felt warm, and safe, and content.  He looked up at his mother again, and saw that she was frowning slightly, and looking past him.  He followed her gaze, turning his head to look behind him.

He saw himself, curled against a large tree in a Vietnamese jungle.  He was soaked to the bone, bruised, battered and bleeding.  The rain had stopped, and the morning sun was peeking through the greenery.  His lips were tinted blue, and his breathing was shallow.

He turned away from the terrifying scene, and grasped his mother's arm.  He wanted nothing more at that moment, than to stay where he was, in his mother's arms, warm and safe.

**San Francisco******

Monica opened her eyes slowly, and smiled when she saw Phoebe sitting in a chair next to her bed, staring down at the baby.

"Phoebe!  Are you okay?  Where's Chris?"

"He went home to change," Phoebe sighed, "I'm sorry we missed everything, but we had to stay behind and talk to the police…"

"Pheebs, it's okay," Monica smiled, and noted that Phoebe looked utterly exhausted.  Dark circles lined her eyes, and her hair was matted and dirty.  She looked much older than her 19 years.

"Enough about that," Phoebe shook her head rapidly, "You have to introduce me to this handsome fellow here," Phoebe looked back down at the sleeping baby.

"Oh, this is Jakob Michael Bing," Monica smiled proudly.

Phoebe's smile faltered slightly, but she recovered before Monica noticed.  

"Monica, that's a beautiful name," Phoebe gushed, and hugged her friend tightly, "I, uh, I think Carol and Susan wanted to come in and say hi, so, uh, now that you're awake, I'll get her, okay?" Phoebe smiled and rushed out of the room before Monica could reply.

Phoebe rushed down the hallway, and into the waiting room.

"Hey, Carol, Susan, Monica is awake," she smiled politely, and sat down next to Rachel.

"Pheebs, what's wrong, you look like you've seen a ghost," Rachel laughed.

"Monica named her son Jakob," Phoebe said flatly.

"Yeah, I know, I helped her pick it out," Rachel shrugged, "Why?"

Phoebe looked over at Rachel, tears lining her eyes.  

"I've been having a weird feeling all day, and at first I thought it was because of the firebomb, but I don't think that's it," Phoebe rattled nervously.

"Phoebe, what is going on?"

"You know, it's probably nothing," Phoebe smiled, "it's just that Jakob was my great-grandfather's name, and I know that it-it means supplanter."

Rachel shrugged, "Supplanter…so what?"

"You don't see it?  It's a _sign_!" Phoebe said, panic and frustration lined her voice, "Supplanter: _one who takes the place of another."_

Rachel looked at Phoebe blankly.  "I'm not following, Phoebe."

"One who takes the place of another," Phoebe repeated gravely, "I just…have a feeling Chandler is not coming back, and that Jakob is meant to take his place in Monica's heart."  

_At my door the leaves are falling _

_A cold wild wind has come_

_Sweethearts walk by together_

_And I still miss someone_

_I go out on a party_

_And look for a little fun_

_But I find a darkened corner_

_Because I still miss someone_

_Oh, no I never got over those blue eyes_

_I see them every where_

_I miss those arms that held me_

_When all the love was there_

_I wonder if she's sorry_

_For leavin' what we'd begun_

_There's someone for me somewhere_

_And I still miss someone_

_("I Still Miss Someone", by J. Cash & R. Cash, Jr. ©1958)_


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Beyond the Sea, Part I

**AN: Someone had asked me when the war in ****Vietnam**** ended.  The ****U.S.**** pulled out its last troops in April of 1975 (The cease-fire was declared in 1973), when it became abundantly clear that the mission had failed.  (While Richard Nixon is often credited for pulling the ****US**** troops out of ****Vietnam****, his Presidency is forever marred by the Watergate scandal that lead to his impeachment.  Gerald Ford was President when the war finally ended.)  **

**To date, the war in ****Vietnam**** is the largest, most costly ****U.S.**** military failure in history.**

**Story Summary: **Winter, 1966/1967.  By year's end, U.S. troop levels reach 463,000 with 16,000 combat deaths to date. By this time, over a million American soldiers have rotated through Vietnam.  The capital city of Saigon is under fire, and the VC's Tet Offensive will turn the tide of the entire war. 

In Vietnam, Chandler has been left to fend for himself, after getting a severely injured Joey to safety and Ross has found two new vices in Saigon; booze and sex.  In San Francisco, the house the girls were staying in was firebombed, and Monica has a baby boy.

****

**_The Age of Aquarius_**

_Chapter Fourteen: Beyond the Sea, Part I_

_"How in the light of one night, did we come so far?"_

_-- Boublil/Maltby, Jr. _

**Saigon****, ****Vietnam******

The harsh, hot rays of the morning sun burned through the threadbare, crimson material that only halfway covered the small window.  The covering veiled the dank, musty room in an almost rose-colored glow, giving the room a much warmer feel than it deserved.

A rickety, rusted bed had been shoved into the far corner of the room, where a hole-covered, black blanket covered a thin, worn mattress.

In the silence of the early morning, a large rat scuttled across the room, and into a hole in a corner floorboard.  In the distance, gunfire; a cruel reminder that this was not an ordinary morning.

In the bed, a man lay on his stomach, his right arm hanging lifelessly off of the bed, his left laying under his head.  He groaned, as the light soon became too bright for him to bear.

A thin Vietnamese girl sat on the other side of the bed, watching the American soldier awaken slowly.  Her heart thumped wildly against her tiny chest, as the dark-haired man opened one red-threaded eye, then another.  Cursing softly, he gingerly raised his head, blinked several times, and surveyed his surroundings.  It took him several long second to register the presence of the girl.

"Oh!" Ross started, and pulled himself to a sitting position suddenly.  He was rewarded with an increase in the persistent thumping in his head, and a slow turning of his stomach.

_Exactly how much had he drunk last night, anyway?_

"Hello," the girl whispered shakily, her eyes glued to the blanket that lay loosely over both of them.

"I—um, you…uh, oh—"Ross stuttered, closed his eyes, and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, in a futile attempt to stop the thumping in his brain.

"Your head hurt?" the girl asked suddenly.

Ross groaned, and nodded slightly, using his headache as an excuse not to talk to the poor girl.  He shifted uncomfortably, opening his eyes when he felt the weight shift on the bed.

"I'll bring you tea," the girl shuffled across the room quickly.  She trembled slightly, and hugged herself, as she muttered something in Vietnamese.

"Wait," Ross sighed, as the girl began walking toward the door.  The girl turned, and looked in Ross' direction, but refused to meet his gaze.

"I'm—I'm Ross," he smiled, and stood up slowly.  Realizing that he was completely nude, he quickly grabbed the blanket, and wrapped it around his waist.  The girl flushed, and looked at her feet.  She shivered again, both from the cold morning air, and from her increasing nervousness.

"Here," Ross grabbed his green jacket off of the end of the bed, and handed it to the girl.  She bowed gratefully, and pulled the jacket around her.  Ross smiled slightly; the girl was completely lost inside his jacket, she was so tiny.  He watched, as she ran her finger over his name patch slowly, then tightened the giant jacket around her.  She bowed again, and smiled slightly, still looking toward the ground.

"I'll get your tea," the girl said softly, and rushed out of the room.

He stood in the center of the room, holding the thin blanket around his waist, wondering just how the hell he had gotten here in the first place.  After several minutes, he shuffled back to the bed, and collapsed on the thin mattress.  His head felt like lead, and his stomach churned.  But he was somehow comforted by the faint scent of the girl's perfume on the sheets; and by the image of the girl that appeared when he closed his eyes.  He let the images envelop him, as he drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

*

**Bangkok****, ****Thailand******

_He was running, his heart thumping in his ears wildly, as fear rose deep within him.  Large tree leaves slapped him in the face, and razor-sharp branches sliced his arms and legs, but he hardly noticed.  He could hear the heavy footsteps closing in, and though he struggled to run faster, his legs suddenly felt very heavy, and it seemed as though his pace was slowing.  He could hear nothing but the sound of his own heavy breathing._

_He suddenly realized that he had no idea where he was, or where he was headed.  He tried to look around, but could see nothing but thick foliage._

_The footsteps grew louder, as they closed in on him._

_He let out a primal scream, and bolted forward as fast as his tired legs could carry him.  _

_The footsteps closed in, overwhelming him.  He suddenly felt a heavy arm on his shoulder, spinning him around quickly._

_He reached for his sidearm, but found that he had no weapon.  He looked up into the eyes of his pursuer, and started as familiar blues looked back at him._

_"__Chandler__?" he whispered._

_Chandler__ said nothing to him; he simply pulled out his gun, pointed it at his head, and fired._

Joey gasped, and sat up in bed, covered in a thin sheen of sweat.  He'd been having the same dream every night; Running, fear, then the shock of seeing Chandler; of seeing Chandler pull a gun on him, and fire.  Shaking his head, Joey lay back down, and once again struggled to figure out what the dream meant.  He turned to his side slowly, and it was then that he remembered why he was holed up in the hospital.  It was then that he realized why his dreams were about running.  He turned to his back, and flipped the sheet off of his body.  Sitting up slightly, he looked down the bed.

Depression, anger, sadness, self-pity and fear overwhelmed him, the way it did every time he looked at the swollen stump where his leg used to be.

*

**Saigon****, ****Vietnam******

The girl walked into the room, carefully balancing the tray in front of her.  She set the tray on a small wooden table that sat next to the bed where the American was once again sleeping.  She quietly shuffled to the other side of the bed, and studied his face as he slept.

Ross felt a presence in the room, and opened his eyes slowly.  He smiled, as he looked up at the girl who was standing before him.  The girl blushed, and looked down at her feet demurely.

"Hi," Ross whispered softly, as he sat up.

The girl smiled slightly, then walked around the bed to fetch the tea.

"You—you never told me your name," Ross commented quietly.

The girl continued to pour the tea slowly.  She picked up one of the tiny blue porcelain cups gingerly, and handed it to Ross with a slight bow.  Ross smiled, and took the cup from her.  He watched, as she picked up her own cup, and sat down on the bottom corner of the bed.

They sipped their tea in silence for several minutes.  Ross watched, as the girl tried to look at him, while simultaneously avoiding his gaze.  Finally, she relented, and looked down at her tea intently.

"Mei Ha," the girl whispered suddenly.

"What?" Ross looked up.

"My name," the girl said softly, "is Mei Ha."

"T-that's a very beautiful name," Ross said sweetly.

"I—this was—I never do this before," Mei Ha studied her tea.

"What?  You mean you've never—"Ross raised an eyebrow, and saw Mei Ha blush again.

"My family…they are dead.  I have no monay, and this man, Thuy, he…he told me that he would help me.  But I…I've never…"

"Me neither," Ross scooted across the bed, and took Mei Ha's hand, "I've never…I mean I have done _that, but I've never bought—I mean, I—"_

"Tell me about America," Mei Ha whispered suddenly.

"Wh-what do you want to know?" Ross asked.

"Anything.  Everything.  I—I want to know…if it is really the way it is, in my dreams," Mei Ha stared at the blanket, and ran her fingers over the rim of her cup.

Ross felt his heart ache for the girl that sat before him.  She looked so young, so small and helpless.  He knew that she was at least his age—perhaps a bit younger—but she had already been through more than most people will in a lifetime.  Cautiously, he took her teacup from her trembling hand, and set both cups on the tray.  He sat back on the bed, and motioned for Mei Ha to join him.  Slowly, she complied, and Ross suddenly realized that she thought he was going to take advantage of her.  As she sat down next to him, he carefully wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her toward him.  He felt her tense slightly, so he loosened his grasp slightly.

"I'm from New York," Ross whispered, and felt Mei Ha relax, as she began to understand his intent.

She settled against him, as he began talking about his family, his friends, and his school.  He talked about American music, about his life before the war.

He did not talk about the girl he left behind; he didn't really know why.

_Somewhere beyond the sea_

_Somewhere waiting for me_

_My lover stands on golden sands_

_And watches the ships that go sailing_

_Somewhere beyond the sea_

_She's there watching for me_

_If I could fly like birds on high_

_Then straight to her arms_

_I'd go sailing_

_--"Beyond the Sea", Bobby Darin_


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Beyond the Sea, Part II

**Story Summary: **Winter, 1966/1967.  By year's end, U.S. troop levels reach 463,000 with 16,000 combat deaths to date. By this time, over a million American soldiers have rotated through Vietnam.  The capital city of Saigon is under fire, and the VC's Tet Offensive will turn the tide of the entire war. 

In Vietnam, Chandler has been left to fend for himself, after getting a severely injured Joey to safety, and Ross has found two new vices in Saigon.  In San Francisco, the house the girls were staying in was firebombed, and Monica has a baby boy.

****

**_The Age of Aquarius_**

_Chapter Fifteen: Beyond the Sea, part II_

_"Oh still, I still believe…you will return…I know you will."_

_--Boubil/Maltby, Jr._

The low, indecipherable whispering seemed miles away, but the more he was pulled into consciousness, the closer the whispering seemed.  Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes, and struggled to focus.  His head was throbbing, and his eyes were burning.  He blinked a few times, and let out a low groan.  When he opened his eyes, he saw two Vietnamese women looking down at him, concern and confusion lining their eyes.

Where was he?  Who were these women?  He turned his head slightly, and noted that he was lying on the floor of a small thatched hut; similar to the kind he and Joey had been kept in when the Viet Cong had captured them.

_Had he been captured again?_

One of the women approached him hesitantly.  She seemed somewhat afraid of him, as she slowly reached forward and placed a shaky hand on his forehead.  

He tensed slightly, but it soon became clear that the women meant him no harm.  He struggled to sit up, but his head began throbbing more.  He groaned, and felt a gentle hand coaxing him back down.  He didn't resist, and in moments, he lost consciousness once more.

A haunting orange glow dusted the horizon, when he opened his eyes again.  He tried to focus on the light, as he pulled himself up slowly.  Still unsure of his surroundings, he nervously scanned the area, his weary eyes immediately darting toward the slightest movement.  

A slim, frail woman entered the hut; she carried a small tray, and kept her eyes glued to it, as she crossed the small space.  Chandler watched her warily, relaxing slightly as he noted that the tray held nothing more than a small cup of tea, and some sort of bread.  The woman looked up at him hopefully, and he smiled gratefully, and stuttered out his best Vietnamese thank you.  The woman grinned, clearly amused at the soldier's butchering of her native language.  She settled onto her knees, and watched the man curiously as he ate his bread.

He was still very bruised, and very weak.  But, she thought to herself, the G.I. looked much better than he had only days earlier, when she and her sister had stumbled upon him not far from their village.  They were frightened at first, but it soon became clear that the man they had found was of no threat to them in his current state; he was clearly on the verge of death, and for a moment, they had considered leaving him to this fate.

But in their hearts, they knew that this was not the honorable thing to do.  The man was helpless, and their father had always taught them that taking advantage of the weak was a coward's way.

She had stayed behind with the man, as her sister ran back to the village for help.  The others were not happy that a U.S. soldier was in their midst, and had decided that the man was completely her and her sister's responsibility.

The man had slept for days, and there were moments when the family was certain he would die, but he had held on, and earlier that day he had opened his eyes for the first time.

His eyes had fascinated her—she had never seen such a sea of blue before.  The heavy, charcoal bags that lined his tired features only served to enhance the sharp cerulean that had stared up at her with an odd combination of fear and compassion.  But in an instant, the azure orbs were gone—concealed by heavy lids—as the G.I. slipped into unconsciousness once more.  He slept most of the day away, waking yet again only moments ago.

She pulled herself from her reverie, when she noticed that he was looking at her.  She shifted uncomfortably, and fumbled for the tray.  She stood quickly, and picked up the tray.  He mumbled another thank you, and she shuffled out of the hut.

_One Week Later_

Chandler had gathered enough strength to venture out of the hut, and help the family with their daily chores, but he was still too weak to try and venture the jungles again.  He tired quickly, and would sometimes suffer from immobilizing headaches.  The family had insisted that he stay until he was fully recovered.

Ten days after his rescue, Chandler was walking with one of the sisters toward a nearby stream, when they heard a distant explosion.  The sister tensed, and shot Chandler a frightened glance.  

Chandler scanned the trees worriedly; he honestly had no idea where he was—for all he knew, he could be in the middle of enemy territory—a sitting duck for the Viet Cong—or for Friendly's who had no idea he was here.

Another, closer explosion sent the girl running back toward the village.  Chandler reached for his sidearm, and then remembered that the villagers had confiscated his weapons when they had rescued him.  He scanned the trees again, before turning and making his way back to the village.

As he approached the village, he noticed that it had become deathly quiet.  The villagers had disappeared into their homes, no doubt terrified by the threat of attack.  He felt a large lump form in his throat—this was their reality, this was what these people—the same people who had saved his life days ago—were forced to live with every day: the constant threat of attack; the uncertainty of what each day held.  They could die at a moments notice, should an enemy plane decide to napalm the area.  And while he too lived with this constant threat, he knew that it was not the same—and that he would never truly understand their struggle to survive.

A closer explosion sent Chandler to the ground, and as he moved to stand, he saw one of the sisters, huddled in the doorway of her hut.  She motioned to him, and he slowly made his way toward her.  When he reached the hut, the woman shoved his firearm into his hand, and closed the door in his face.  He looked at the gun for a moment, then scanned the silent village.  He didn't understand.  Did the villagers expect him to fight off this invisible invasion?  He had no idea what he was up against, and all he had was his .45.  Taking a deep breath, Chandler checked his weapon, and lifted it in front of him slowly, as he scanned the now quiet area.  If he was going to die, he may as well die fighting…

*

San Francisco 

Monica moaned, and turned over, her head throbbing with exhaustion.  Jakob was crying.

Again.

She rolled out of bed slowly, and fumbled toward the bassinet that sat in the far corner of her room.

"Shhh, baby, you're gonna wake the whole house," Monica picked up the infant, cradled him in her arms, and began rocking him back and forth.

The girls were all staying in a small, cramped commune in the Upper Haight, until the damage to the house could be assessed and repaired.  The police had given up any hope of finding the fire bombers, and while Chris was convinced that it was the work of a racist organization, Phoebe thought it was more likely to be a group of kids who didn't like the idea of a white woman dating a black man.

Monica, meanwhile was struggling with her conflicting emotions following Jakob's arrival; she knew that both Rachel and Phoebe were happy here in San Francisco, but Monica was miserable.  She longed to be back in New York.  She wanted to attempt to reconcile with her parents—and it was becoming clear that she was not capable of raising a baby on her own.

Deep down, Monica was hoping that Chandler was back from Vietnam, and that he would be eager to see her.  She missed him more every day, especially with Jakob around.  He looked so much like his father, and Monica wanted nothing more than for the two to meet.

Jakob whimpered, pulling Monica from her thoughts.  She looked down at the baby, who was now drifting back to sleep, and felt her own eyes drooping.  Slowly, quietly, she set the baby back in his bed, and crawled into her own.

Thirty minutes later, Jakob was crying again; this time, Monica cried with him.

*

_Vietnam_

He spun his gun toward the rustling in the bushes to the north.  Moments later, a young boy, no older than nine or ten, emerged from the jungles that surrounded the village.  Chandler lowered his weapon, and studied the boy curiously.  Where had he come from?  The boy wasn't from the village, or if he was, Chandler had never seen him before.  He began to approach the boy, but stopped abruptly, as the boy's torso came into view.

The boy was strapped to a bomb.

Chandler raised his weapon again, and ordered the boy to stop walking toward the village, in both Vietnamese and English.  The boy continued walking, and as he approached, he began muttering something that Chandler couldn't understand.  Chandler pointed his weapon at the boy sharply, and ordered him to stop again.  The boy ignored him, and continued to walk toward the center of the small village.  Chandler watched in horror, as the boy walked straight past him, as though he had never even seen the American.  He looked up at the hut that housed his host family, and saw the sisters, staring at the boy, terror lining their eyes.

Chandler ran toward the boy-bomb, and grabbed him by the collar of his threadbare shirt.  He dragged the boy to the perimeter of the village, and fumbled for the straps of the bomb.  The boy struggled from Chandler's grasp, and pulled a small knife from his boot.  The boy lunged at the G.I., sinking the knife into Chandler's shoulder.  Chandler growled in pain, but ignored the knife in an attempt to stop the boy again.  The boy turned to smirk at Chandler, and the latter realized that the bomb was set to go off at any moment.  He backed up toward the jungle, then aimed his gun at the child's head.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion.  He saw the boy, turning toward the village again, intent on destroying all that he could.  He felt his finger, pulling the trigger of the gun.  He saw the boy, contracting as the bullet hit the back of his tiny head, killing him on impact.  He saw the boy careening toward the ground, and he vaguely heard the screams of the villagers, as the scrambled out of harm's way.

He huddled behind a tree, several yards from the child.  The bomb went off seconds later, igniting a nearby hut, but killing no one in the village.

Chandler opened his eyes, his hands shaking wildly.  He looked down, and saw the knife, still protruding from his left shoulder.

Oddly, he felt no pain from the wound.

His heart was pounding furiously, and his stomach was turning.  He sat up slowly, and the images of the past several seconds filled his head.

He leaned against the tree, and vomited.

Several villagers appeared moments later, each of them talking quickly and cheerfully.  Though he couldn't understand them, Chandler knew that the villagers were congratulating him, and thanking him for saving their village.

He didn't feel much like a hero.

The villagers helped him to his feet, each of them still rambling excitedly.  Chandler shuffled back to the village stoically.  He turned, and saw the charred remains of the bamboo hut, and of the boy who had destroyed it.

In his head, he knew that he had saved lives.

He knew that the boy could have destroyed much more, given the opportunity.

He knew that the villagers had saved his life, and that he had owed them.

He knew all of this—but it didn't change the fact that he had just killed a child.

As the sun set on the saved village, the soldier who had rescued it broke down and cried.

_It's far beyond a star,_

_It's near beyond the moon_

_I know beyond a doubt_

_My heart will lead me there soon_

_We'll meet beyond the shore_

_We'll kiss just like before_

_Happy we'll be beyond the sea_

_And never again I'll go sailing_

_(Beyond the Sea, by Bobby Darin)_


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Funeral For a Friend

**Story Summary: **Winter, 1966/1967.  By year's end, U.S. troop levels reach 463,000 with 16,000 combat deaths to date. By this time, over a million American soldiers have rotated through Vietnam.  The capital city of Saigon is under fire, and the VC's Tet Offensive will turn the tide of the entire war. 

In Vietnam, Chandler has been left to fend for himself, after getting a severely injured Joey to safety, and Ross has found two new vices in Saigon.  In San Francisco, the house the girls were staying in was firebombed, and Monica has a baby boy.

The Age of Aquarius 

_Chapter Sixteen: Funeral For a Friend_

_"Let us strive to find a way to make all hatred cease.  There's a man over there what's his colour I don't care.  He's my brother let us live in peace."_

_--"Border Song", John/Taupin_

_"We still have a choice today: nonviolent coexistence, or violent coannihilation."_

_--"Beyond Vietnam", Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., 4 April 1967._

**San Francisco, steps of City Hall, two weeks later**

"We can not stand by, and allow those who would oppress us walk freely.  We will overcome, we will stand tall, my brothers and sisters…"

Phoebe stood just behind Chris, as he delivered his speech with grace and passion.  They had been working on the speech over the past week, as a way to avoid resolving the arguments that they had had soon after the house fire.  In one of the fights, Phoebe had accused Chris of being paranoid, and he had stopped talking to her for three days.  But she apologized, and they moved on, working on his speech day and night, neither of them willing to address the issues that the arguments had raised.

It seemed that the racial tensions that surrounded them were beginning to wear on their once-solid relationship.

Phoebe sighed, and scanned the interracial crowd nervously.  She was hesitant to admit it to Chris, but ever since the fire, she was reluctant to be seen in such public settings with him.  She feared that Chris' outspoken nature, combined with his controversial relationship would be enough to put them both in danger.

Or maybe she was just being paranoid.

She turned to look at Chris, as the crowd erupted in wild applause.  He raised his arms victoriously, and pumped his fists into the air, before turning toward Phoebe, a large grin on his face.

"It was perfect!" Phoebe gushed, and threw her arms around Chris.

Chris kissed Phoebe quickly, and led her down the steps, and toward their waiting car.

"I couldn't have done it without you, baby," Chris yelled over the crowd.

Phoebe paused, and turned to look at Chris, her eyes glistening.

"Really?"

Chris smiled, and snaked his arm around her waist, "Really.  I love you Phoebe Buffay.  And I think we should get married!"

Phoebe smiled, and wrapped her arms around Chris' neck, all of her previous concerns forgotten. "Okay!"

A moment later, the unmistakable popping of gunfire shattered everything.

*

New York

Charles leaned heavily against the window pain, the ice in his half empty glass rattling softly.

The rain snaked down the glass in long, slow streaks.

He lifted the glass to his mouth, and let the last of the Scotch burn down his throat.

It was quiet.  Too quiet, in this house these days.

He sighed heavily, and rubbed his throbbing temple slowly.

Things had been…altered since he'd sent his only son to war.  Nora had withdrawn completely, eventually drinking more than her tired body would allow.

Charles had found her, sprawled across her bathroom floor, vomit pooling around her head.

He'd done his best to save her; but she was dead by the time the ambulance had arrived that night.  Her dying words had been whispered, and slightly gurgled.  She had whispered her son's name, and Charles did the only thing he could think of in his panicked state; he'd told Nora that Chandler was okay—that he was coming home.

The truth was, Charles hadn't heard from Chandler in a long time.  He was beginning to fear the worst, as Chandler's assigned tour of duty had ended a week ago.

And he had heard nothing.

Guilt, sorrow, and loneliness was overwhelming him, driving him to drink, sending him to an early grave.

Just like his wife.

Just like his son.

_No_, he shook his head angrily, _Chandler was okay.  He was coming home._

He'd told Nora as much.  He _needed_ to believe that it was true.

Charles sank into his chair, and flipped absently through the day's mail, praying that he would find a letter from Vietnam.

There was nothing.  No word, no telegram, no word that he was coming home, no word that he was gone forever.

It hurt his heart—he would rather bury his son, than live the rest of his life not knowing.

There was a letter, however, from San Francisco.  Curious, Charles tore open the envelope, and unfolded the off-white, lined stationary slowly.

_Dear Mr. & Mrs. Bing,_

_I hope that this letter finds you well.  I know that you hardly know me, but I do know you, and I know and love your son Chandler.  _

_I am writing this letter for two reasons.  The first is out of concern.  I have not heard from Chandler in a long time, and I am hoping that he has at least contacted you.  Can you tell me if you have heard from him?  Is he coming home?_

_The second reason I am writing, is to let you know that Chandler is a father, and that you are grandparents.  I know that you said you wanted nothing to do with me, or the baby,  but there is no doubt in my mind that Jakob is Chandler's.  Jakob is the spitting image of his father, in so many wonderful ways._

_I can only pray that you read this through, and that you consider letting your grandson meet you when we return to New York in the next few weeks.  I love your son dearly, and I want nothing more than for Jakob to know his father's parents._

_Sincerely,_

_Monica E. Geller._

Charles set down the letter gingerly, and closed his eyes.  A small smile pursed his lips, as he picked up a blank note card and a pen.

He was a grandfather.

And now Jakob was all that he had left.

*

San Francisco

They fell to the ground simultaneously, but only one of them was screaming.

The next several minutes were a wild blur; Phoebe felt faint, and weak, and nauseous.

She looked up into the sea of concerned faces, and squirmed away from someone who was checking her for bullet wounds.

But she wasn't hit—she knew she wasn't.

The blood and skull fragments she wore on her face and dress did not belong to her.

"Chris!  Chriiiis!" Phoebe tried to fight past the arms that held her securely, but her eyes never left the hunched form that lay bleeding on the steps of the government building.

Moments later, the shock overwhelmed her, and she felt her knees buckle.

Then everything went black.

**AN: It's kind of short, but I have no time to write anymore…it's awful but true.**

**I'll try to finish this up as fast as I can…but I make no promises!**


	18. Chapter Seventeen: If You Want to Die in...

**AN: Seriously, I have no time anymore.  I am so sorry!**

**Also, I have a _massive_ shiner!  I got hit in the face with a softball this weekend…people keep telling me that it looks like I smeared my make-up, ha.  So if there are holes in my story, I am blaming it on the ball hitting my face and erasing my memory.  Hee.**

**Story Summary**: Spring/Summer 1968.  Support for the war, and for incumbent President Johnson is eroding quickly, and consequently Johnson announces his intentions to pull his candidacy for another term.  

On April 4, 1968 Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. is assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee.  Racial and civil unrest ensues.

Joey has arrived in New York; Rachel, Monica and Phoebe are also back in New York, after Phoebe's boyfriend, a Black Panther named Chris, was assassinated on the steps of San Francisco's City Hall.  Ross is feeling the heat in Saigon, and Chandler is fighting to make his way out of the jungles of Vietnam alive.

**The Age of Aquarius**

Chapter Seventeen: If You Want to Die in Bed

_"If you want to die in bed in times of revolution, when the flag they fly is red, let pride fill up your chest--meanwhile pack a sack and take the first boat heading west."_

_--Boubil/Maltby, Jr._

New York City

A car horn, and several police car sirens flooded the room, jerking him into consciousness.

Not that he minded.

His dreams were invaded nightly, by vivid, horrifying images—some real, some imagined.

Not that he could delineate anymore.

The hot, sticky air still clung to his skin; the sharp, thin foliage still sliced his exposed arms and chest; and the thunderous simultaneous booming of choppers, with the incessant popping of not-so-distant gunfire still rang in his ears.

He had left Vietnam months ago, but Vietnam had yet to leave him.

He sat up slowly, propping himself up on his elbows, as he let the remnants of sleep fall away.  His eyes scanned the room; a tiny, dank hotel room, with rotting drapes and water-stained walls.  The thin, worn mattress smelled of mildew, and was covered with a stained, threadbare sheet, and his own Army-issue blanket.

This was what he had been reduced to. 

He let out a heavy sigh, and pulled his wheelchair toward the bed.

He was half the man he used to be—literally.

It took all of his strength to lift himself into the chair; the entire process was completely exhausting, (More psychologically than physically—not that he would admit to the fact.) and often left him out of breath and slightly dizzy.

Sighing heavily, he wheeled himself across the room, and out of the hotel.

It was the invisibility that irritated him, more than anything else.  He could handle the crude remarks, and even the unintentional (or perhaps they were intentional?) stares, but the way people would just…act like he didn't exist…that was what hurt him most.

And if he weren't so fucking depressed he might laugh at all of this irony.

For he had lost the very thing he had been fighting for—made sacrifices for.

Freedom could be so bitter, when it was nothing more than an aftertaste.

He spent the majority of his days at the Park, staring longingly at the walkers, joggers, runners…the people that were oblivious to him and to how great they had it.

He loathed them all.

He was so lost in thought, he didn't see the woman approaching him, until she landed squarely on his lap.

~*~

Vietnam

He was crouched low, completely invisible behind the long, thick leaves that skirted the jungle floor.  His cerulean eyes followed the movements of the enemy soldiers, as his grip tightened around the handle of his knife.  The men were walking slowly, their weapons extended, their eyes and ears perked.  The first man crossed the invisible wire that covered the uneven pathway.

It was enough.

The trap released, and the sharp bamboo stakes swung through the air, pinning both men to an adjacent tree.  The men screamed, as their weapons clattered to the ground.

For a long, anxious moment, there was silence.  The men scanned the area, wondering if they would starve to death, while pinned to the tree.

Moments later, an American soldier emerged from his hiding place, his eyes cold and lifeless.  The men watched in horror, as the man approached, and kicked their weapons away.

They pleaded with him in Vietnamese, unaware that he understood every word.

But he was beyond reason.  Wordlessly, he pulled his knife, and slit both throats. 

He cleaned his knife on one of the dead man's uniforms, and re placed it in the holster on his belt.

Without another thought, he set to work, re-setting the booby traps.

The sun was setting on the small village, by the time he returned.  He made his way toward his hut, his legs burning from the hours spent crouched deep within the jungle walls.

Chandler had resigned himself to his fate months ago.  Following the incident with the child, the attacks on the village were becoming more frequent, to the point where defending it had become a full-time job.

Even as the attacks waned, Chandler found that it was easier to live under the illusion that the villagers needed him, and that his job was to protect them.

As the months wore on, Chandler continued to work to protect the village, setting up traps, and silently killing anyone who dared to cross the invisible perimeter.  

He became the emotionless, robotic soldier that just might make the US Army proud.

The only problem was, the US Army had left him for dead.

~*~

New York City

The apartment was, for lack of a better word, stifling.

She had agreed to live in Phoebe's apartment—the one her grandmother had willed to her—to help her friend get over the shock and grief that had consumed her since Chris' assassination.  

But the apartment was tiny—and with Monica and Jakob crashing there most nights, it was becoming a bit too much.

She needed an outlet—a way to get rid of her frustrations.

Lately she had found that outlet in daily runs through Central Park.

It was a wonderful time of year to be in New York, and the perfect time of year to be in the Park.  

And it was a great place to meet guys.

She had to admit, that even in the crowded apartment, she felt alone.  She had finally been able to let go of Ross, and now the loneliness that had briefly consumed her in San Francisco was beginning to eat her alive.

It only made her run harder.

She ran harder, and faster, until her legs were ready to give out, and the tears she didn't know she'd shed dried on her flushed cheeks.

She didn't see the man, until it was too late.

She tried to slow, tried to turn, but he was right in her path, and she was too startled to yell.  She tripped over her own feet in an attempt to stop, and she landed right on his lap.

"Oh!  God, I am so, so sorry," Rachel cried, as she clumsily fumbled her way off of the man's lap.

"That's okay," the man said softly, and looked up at Rachel, as she struggled to compose herself.

"I should have been paying more attention," Rachel smiled.

"Me too, I guess," the man whispered, before looking at his hands.

"I-I'm Rachel, Rachel Green," Rachel extended her hand and smiled warmly.

"I'm Joey," the man mumbled, and shook Rachel's hand feebly.

"You look…familiar, Joey.  Have we met before?"

The man shrugged, and a sour look crossed his face.  Rachel stepped back unconsciously, and surreptitiously scanned the area.

"I used to be…taller," Joey finally whispered, and looked up at Rachel sardonically.

Rachel smiled, and shifted uncomfortably.  The man looked lost, and lonely, and her heart went out to him.

Maybe she wasn't the only one that was all alone in the City.

"Do you want to…maybe get a cup of coffee Joey?"

Joey scoffed, and shook his head, "A pity drink for the crippled?  Did you do something to your karma or something?"

"What?  No, I just…I could use a friend," Rachel's brow furrowed.

"Oh," Joey flushed, and looked at the ground.  How could he be so stupid?  A beautiful woman actually asks him out, and he insults her?  He shook his head, and looked up at Rachel, who was watching him curiously.

"Yeah, coffee would be great, Rachel."

~*~

Charles watched from the living room window, as Monica and Jakob emerged from the taxicab.  He made his way to the front door, and swung it open as they approached.

"Monica, thank you for coming," Charles smiled, and immediately took Jakob into his arms.

"Well, hello there, little one," Charles cooed, as he led Monica into the living room.

Charles had offered to let Monica and Jakob stay with him, but Monica had never been totally comfortable with the idea, and had insisted that she needed to be closer to the City, so they had settled on having them stay with Charles on the weekends, and on any other day Charles wasn't working.  But Charles could see that single motherhood was taking its toll on the young woman—she looked much older than her eighteen years.  He would occasionally extend his offer to let her stay with him full time, but the girl was stubbornly independent, and insisted that she was fine.

"Thank you again for letting us stay with you, Mr. Bing," Monica smiled, but kept her eyes on Jakob.

"Monica, I told you, call me Charles.  And you know that you are welcome to stay for as long as you need to."

Monica nodded silently, and sat back on the large, white sofa.  Exhaustion soon began to overwhelm her, and she felt her eyes drooping.

She was asleep within moments.

She awoke several hours later, to find that she had been covered with a blanket, and given a soft pillow.  She sat up slowly, and noticed a note sitting on the coffee table in front of her.

_Monica,_

_There are clean towels in the guest bathroom.  Please help yourself to anything in the fridge.  Jakob and I went for a walk; we'll be back soon._

_Charles._

Yawning, Monica made her way upstairs, toward the bathroom.  As she ascended the staircase, she studied the photos that lined the walls of the corridor.  She had been in this house many times, and had never really looked at the photos.  Most of the photos were of people Monica had never met, but it was clear that they were family members.  There was a large photo of Chandler's mother, and another of her with Chandler, when he was a child.  Monica ran her hand over the photo gingerly, and felt tears spring to her eyes.  Jakob looked so much like his father.  She sighed, and looked up at another photo, more recent, from Chandler's high school graduation.  She smiled, as she realized that she had met him not long afterward.  He had the long, shaggy hair sitting in his eyes, and a stoned smile on his face.  She recalled the way he used to blow the hair out of his face, and the way he would run his hand through it, when he was nervous.  She bowed her head, and walked toward the bathroom.

Once inside the shower, she let her mind wander again to the photo of Chandler, and the months they spent together before he was sent to Vietnam.  She let the hot water consume her tears, and wondered why her heart was hurting so badly today, more than ever.

_"Having fun?" Chandler smiled, as he sat back down on the blanket._

_Monica nodded vigorously, then looked over at Joey and Phoebe, who were now doing much more than kissing._

_"I thought they were just friends," Monica said slowly._

_"They are.  It's, you know, Free Love baby," Chandler laughed._

_"Oh," Monica said, tearing her eyes from the scene._

_"Between you and me," Chandler whispered into Monica's ear, giving her involuntary chills, "I don't know how they do it.  I could never really, you know, share."_

_"Me neither," Monica said absently._

_"I'm happy you came tonight, Monica," Chandler grinned, "and really happy I got to see your bra!"_

Monica blushed, and bit her lip.  She turned away from Chandler, embarrassed by her embarrassment, but suddenly realized that she was once again, looking at Joey and Phoebe, now in the throes of passion.

_"Sorry," Chandler said softly, "if all this makes you uncomfortable."_

_"I'm not uncomfortable," Monica said suddenly, though it was evident by her tone that she was._

_"Do you want me to take you home?"_

_Monica thought for a moment, and though her mind was hazy, she knew that she had never felt so free and grown up in her life.  She was determined to hold onto that feeling, no matter what._

Charles was seated on the sofa when Monica finally emerged from the bathroom, clean and in fresh clothes.

"You're back!  How was your walk?" she asked, as she circled the sofa.

Charles looked up at Monica, his face pallid, and his eyes bloodshot.

Monica felt her heart lurch, as she sat down next to Charles, and took Jakob from his trembling arms.

"What?  What is it?" Monica asked, panic lining her every word.

"They—they came by," Charles said quietly, as he reached into his shirt pocket.

"Who?"

"The Army," Charles whispered, and unfolded the letter slowly.

"Wh-what did they say?" Monica felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"He's MIA.  That's what they said, MIA."

"What is that?  What's MIA?"

"Missing in Action.  They—they think he might be dead."

Monica closed her eyes, and saw his image, clear as day.  His bright blue eyes were smiling at her, telling her that it was going to be okay.  Telling her that he was coming home.

"They're wrong, Charles.  He's coming home."

AN: I re-read this, and realized that nothing really happened here…sorry about that.  Let's just call it a filler chapter, huh?  Anyway, please review!!!!!!!!!


	19. Chapter Eighteen: All You Need is Love

**AN: I have been watching _Band of Brothers_ this week, and it helped me immensely in forming an image of Ross in the military.  It's a great series; I highly recommend it.**

**The Age of Aquarius**

_Chapter Eighteen: All You Need is Love_

_She loves you_

_And you know that can't be bad_

_She loves you_

_With a love like that, you know you should be glad_

_('She Loves You' Lennon/McCartney)_

Saigon, Vietnam

When you are away from everything, and everyone that you know, a vacuum is created, and suddenly, you don't know who you are anymore—nothing is the same—you aren't the same.

The result can be painfully stifling, or amazingly liberating.

The image that Ross Geller had of himself before he arrived in Vietnam was very different from the one carried with him at the moment.

His parents always loved him—perhaps a little too much.  They coddled him, adored him, spoiled him, and made him believe that he was capable of achieving anything.

He truly believed that he could be the very best at everything that he tried.

The United States Army gave him a dose of reality that he wasn't quite prepared for.

There was no denying that Ross was exceptionally intelligent—he was a great strategist, and a terrific map-reader.  

But when he was put out onto the field, and in pressure situations, he would simply crumble.

The military, being the well-rounded organization that it is, was able to work around Ross' weaknesses, and take advantage of his strengths.  They'd made him an intelligence officer, a job he'd excelled at, but hated.

He longed to be out in the field, fighting the Viet Cong, defending freedom and honor, the way his father had…the way his grandfather had.

In two days he was leaving Saigon, and heading back to the United States.  He knew his parents, his sister and his friends would all wonder how he'd managed to survive, and would hound him for stories about his tour.

What could he tell them?  He'd spent the majority of his time here in offices, or riding from base to base, watching as other men suffered the casualties of war.  The closest he'd ever come to combat was his trip across the border, where he'd watched helplessly as his captain and two soldiers he'd barely known had been killed mercilessly.  Sure he'd been shot, but at the time, he hadn't even had the good sense to turn around and fire back.

He stood up, and walked to his office window.  Below him the streets were in chaos, as word that the Viet Cong were closing in spread.  He thought of Mei Ha, and how frightened she had been the night before.  He'd promised to take her with him, when he left for the US—but he knew that the military would only allow it if they were married.

And among the smoke and chaos of the war, and a city that was on the verge of destruction, their true identities seemed lost, and their lives revolved around nothing but that moment.  Both of them were so desperate for some kind of harmony, some sense of sanity amongst the bedlam, that they were willing to do anything.

He'd married her, not only to save her, but to save himself.

New York City

"You're wondering, aren't you?"

"What?"

"My leg.  You're wondering what happened to it." 

"I—"

"It's okay, there's nothing wrong with being curious."

Rachel sipped her coffee nervously, and averted her eyes.  She hadn't meant to stare, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings, but it was impossible for her not to wonder.

"It was a land mine.  In Vietnam."

"Oh," Rachel looked up at Joey, who was looking at her intently.

"We were running for the border…taking some desk jockey to his cushy new job in the capital…but the Commies got there before us, and rigged the field.  At least I think that's what happened.  Anyway, I woke up in a prison camp, and my leg was…gone."

"Wow," Rachel whispered, her eyes watering, "that's...that's…I don't know what to say."

Joey shrugged, and sighed heavily.

"How did you get out?"

"A…friend…he was with me when the bomb went off…he didn't lose any limbs or anything," Joey shook his head, and for a split-second, Rachel thought she saw a glint of resentment residing in his chocolate eyes.

"Where's your friend now?"

"I don't know," Joey's turned to look out of the coffee shop window, a faraway look lining his tired featured.

"Was he a good friend?" Rachel asked quietly.

"He saved my life," Joey replied, with more bitterness that he had intended.

Saigon, Vietnam

He was sat in his chair, his head leaned back, his hands folded neatly in his lap, his mind wandering, when the bomb went off.

It shook the foundation of the building, knocked photos off of the walls, and knocked plaster from the ceiling.

In an instant, the Embassy was chaos; papers fluttering, people screaming, and alarms sounding.

He rushed into the hallway, and watched, dumbfounded, as people hurried for the exits, only to be stopped by the military police.  Ross rushed toward the door.

"What the hell is going on?  Why can't we leave?" he asked the first MP he saw.

"Sir, there are riots in the streets.  You'd be safer here," the MP replied hastily.

"Here?  You mean here where a _bomb_ just went off?" Ross asked incredulously.

"Sir," a Private approached Ross from behind, "The Ambassador is evacuating from the roof.  He wants you out too."

"I have to find my wife!" Ross replied angrily.

"There's no time Sir.  We'll send people for her—please Sir, follow me."

Ross looked back at the MP, before turning and following the Private to the roof, where a large green military chopper was waiting.

"Come on sir," the Private yelled over the noise, "It's time to go home."

*

Somewhere in North Vietnam

"We're getting close," the Captain muttered, as he led his platoon through the thick foliage slowly.

"How can you tell, sir?" the Lieutenant asked.

"This place is covered with booby traps—look," the Captain stopped and pointed at a small branch that had been laid carefully across the makeshift trail, "Warn your men, and stay alert…the compound must be close by."

The Lieutenant nodded and turned back to his men, as the Captain moved toward the trap.

He crouched over the branch, and gingerly ran a finger across it.

"Clever little Commies," he whispered, shaking his head as he moved to stand.

Suddenly, a man pounced from behind a large fallen tree, and tackled the Captain to the ground.  The man straddled the Captain, and pressed a knife to his neck.

The captain looked up at the man, his face completely covered in blackish-green mud, his clothing torn and blood stained, his breath hot and ragged. There was a menacing fire lining the man's eyes…his deep _blue_ eyes.

"What in the hell are you doing?" the Captain yelled, as his men approached, weapons drawn, "Don't shoot him!  He's American…I think," the Captain choked out, as the muddy man applied more pressure to the knife on his throat.

"We're on your side, son," the Captain said quietly, then watched as his words registered with the young man.  The man looked up at the other soldiers, his anger slowly melting into fear.  He looked back down at the Captain before scrambling to his feet, and disappearing into the trees.

"Sir, are you alright?" the Lieutenant ran toward the Captain, and crouched next to him.

"I'm fine, Lieutenant. Send some of your men after than man!"

"Who was he?"

"I don't know. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let him run around this jungle like some fucking lunatic."

"Yes Sir," the Lieutenant replied, then looked back at his men, "Martin, Goldman and Parker—find that man—we want him alive!"

"Yes sir!" the men said in unison, and shot into the trees.

"Watch out for traps!" the Captain yelled, as he stood up, holding his throat and counting his blessings.

_There's nothing you can do that can't be done._

_Nothing you can sing that can't be sung._

_Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game_

_It's easy._

_There's nothing you can make that can't be made._

_No one you can save that can't be saved._

_Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be in time._

_('All You Need is Love' Lennon/McCartney)_


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Love Will Keep Us Aliv...

**AN: I just wanted to point out, again, that I have very limited computer access, and what I do have is at work so it's not that I am intentionally going slow on my fics, it's that…well, I just can't get time to do them anymore!  But please review anyway, kay?**

**Story Summary:** Summer 1968.  Joey meets Rachel in New York; Monica is struggling to raise Jakob alone; Ross leaves Saigon without his new bride; and Chandler is discovered by a group of American soldiers.

The Age of Aquarius 

_Chapter Nineteen: Love Will Keep Us Alive_

_I was standing_

_All alone against the world outside_

_You were searching_

_For a place to hide_

_Lost and lonely_

_Now you've given me the will to survive_

_When we're hungry... love will keep us alive_

Vietnam

_"Who did he say he was?"_

_"He didn't, sir, that's the thing.  He hasn't said one word since we found him."_

_"You sure he's one of ours?"_

Chandler opened his eyes slowly, and focused on the two men that were conversing at the foot of his bed.  He wasn't sure how he had gotten there, but as his mind began to clear, he began to wonder just how long he had been unconscious.  He parted his dry lips slowly, and struggled to speak.

"He wasn't wearing his dog tags, but I'm sure that we could go through the list of recent MIA's—"

"We don't have time for that nonsense—let's get him ready to be sent home—let the desk jockey's in Bangkok figure it out."

"Sir, he's awake again."

The two soldiers looked over at the mystery man, and leaned in when he tried to speak.

"Wh-where am I?" the man rasped.

"You're at a military hospital—can you tell us your name, son?" the older soldier asked loudly.

"Bing, sir.  Lieutenant Bing.  H-how did I get here?"

"One of our units found you and brought you in Lieutenant.  You attacked Captain Peters, and his unit tracked you down after you bolted.  Do you remember any of this?"

"N-no.  I—I remember…I was captured…and then…there was a helicopter, and Joey…I don't know…"

"It's alright son, the medics here are going to take good care of you, and then you'll be going home."

"H-home?" 

"Yes.  You do remember home, don't you?"

New York

"That's it up there, second house on the left," Ross instructed the cab driver, then sat back in his seat heavily.

He was finally home.

It hadn't really hit him—the fact that he was home—until his plane began making it's decent over the city.  The image of the grand, sprawling city from the skies high above would forever be etched in his mind; the golden light of the setting sun illuminating the glass panels of the Chrysler building; the understated elegance of the Empire State Building; the shimmering lights of a nocturnal city, ready to come to life again.  He smiled, his finger tracing along the small airplane window, eyes scanning the towering steel skeletons of two new towers, yet to be completed.  After spending so long in a city that was near ruin, he felt a satisfying, warm relief in finding himself arriving in a city that was still growing, and so full of life.

The taxi pulled into his parent's driveway, and he sat for a moment, his eyes scanning the house where he had spent his childhood.  A sudden sadness overwhelmed him, as he realized that his childhood had ended when he was sent to Vietnam.  He thought of Mei Ha, and wondered if he would ever see her again—his numerous requests to find her had gone unanswered; he thought about his life before Vietnam, and he wondered how much the people he'd left behind had changed.

Ross paid the driver, and stepped out of the taxi, his eyes never leaving the house that loomed in front of him.  

As the taxi pulled away, he placed his cap on his head, and straightened his uniform carefully, before slinging his bag over his shoulder, and heading toward his parent's house…toward home.

*

Phoebe shuffled up the steps to her building, while blankly flipping through the day's mail.  She keyed into her apartment to find Monica asleep on the sofa, Jakob snuggled securely in her arms.  She smiled slightly, and dropped into a chair adjacent to the sofa.  She sighed heavily, and turned to look out at the lights of the city.  

She hadn't been the same since Chris' murder.  She had lost something that day, something that could never be replaced—innocence, perhaps, or maybe it was naivety—whatever it was had been replaced with bitterness, regret and cynicism.

And she hated herself for it.

Her eyes fell onto her friend, still sleeping soundly, her face showing continuous signs of fatigue and stress.  Even with Chandler's father's help, Monica had been struggling to juggle her part-time job with raising Jakob.

How had they all come to this point?  How had they lost themselves so quickly?  When had their youth—their childhoods—passed them by?

Jakob squirmed and began to fuss, and Monica stirred.  Phoebe stood up quickly, and took Jakob from Monica, as she slowly opened her eyes.

"What time is it Pheebs?" Monica rasped, as she rubbed her red-threaded eyes.

"It's about seven…go back to sleep, I can take care of Jake."

"'s okay, I'm up," Monica yawned, "How was work?"

"Ugh, awful, I hate that job," Phoebe sighed, "but it will have to do for now."

"I'm sorry, Pheebs."

"No, it's okay.  I really don't think I would be happy in anything right now."

"Yeah," Monica whispered distantly, and stood up, just as the door intercom buzzed.  Monica crossed the room, and answered it.

"Rach, did you forget your key _again_?" she smiled.

"Um, no.  It—its Charles Bing."

"Oh!  Okay, yes, come on up!" Monica shot Phoebe a confused look, and buzzed Charles in.

He was standing in their doorway a few minutes later, a blank look on his face, and his hands shoved deep into his pockets.  He looked…numb.

"Charles, is everything okay?  Have you heard anything about—"

"Monica, I just…I came to say goodbye."

"What?  Goodbye?  Where—"

"I'm so sorry sweetheart.  I just…I can't stay here anymore…I need to get away from the…memories, I guess."

"But—"

"I'm moving with a friend to Las Vegas.  I'll send you my forwarding address once I'm settled.  I just…I can't be here anymore."

"But…what if they find Chandler?" Monica asked quietly.

"I—" Charles sighed, his shoulders dropping in helpless resignation, "I just don't think they will," he finished quietly, then looked down at Monica, "I'm leaving this for you—it should be enough money to see you and Jake through the next few months—and if you need anything, you can always call me, okay?  I'm sorry, Monica."

"Me too," Monica muttered, and watched as Charles walked toward Phoebe and kissed Jake goodbye, before walking out the front door wordlessly.

Monica sank onto the sofa, and put her head in her hands.

She wouldn't give up on Chandler—not yet.

Vietnam

_He was standing in a field, surrounded by lush, yellow flowers, the air sweet with natural perfume, and the sky a brilliant blue.  There was a calmness surrounding him, as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing the warm air to fill his lungs._

_As he opened his eyes, he gasped at the sight that was now laid out in front of him: the flowers, once vibrant and colorful, were now dead and wilted; the sky was an ominous black, and the air was stale and putrid.  He coughed violently, and blood began pouring from his mouth…he struggled to scream, but no sound came out._

_He fell to the ground, his body shaking violently, and suddenly, he was surrounded by blood-covered children, all of them screaming…_

Chandler sat up in bed, sweating and panting.  It was the same nightmare he'd been having since he awoke in the hospital four days ago, yet it haunted him just the same.

He lay down in bed, and covered his face with his hands, in a futile effort to block out the horrible images that kept him awake at night.

If only he could figure out what they meant.

What had happened to him?  He had scars he didn't recognize, and his head was always throbbing…it was as though something was buried deep inside him, screaming to get out.

He turned, and stared out the dusty hospital window, into the starless night above, and tried to shake off the dark ominous feeling that part of him was missing, and that whatever it was he had buried, it was horrific.

He shivered, and pulled his knees to his chest, focused his eyes on the thin sliver of moonlight that was cast across his dark green blanket, and wished that at this moment, he wasn't so terribly alone.

_I was standing_

_All alone against the world outside_

_You were searching_

_For a place to hide_

_Lost and lonely_

_Now you've given me the will to survive_

_When we're hungry... love will keep us alive_

_Don't you worry_

_Sometimes you've just gotta let it ride_

_The world is changing_

_Right before your eyes_

_Now I've found you_

_There's no more emptiness inside_

_When we're hungry... love will keep us alive_

_I would die for you_

_Climb the highest mountain_

_Baby, there's nothing I wouldn't do_

_Now I've found you_

_There's no more emptiness inside_

_When we're hungry... love will keep us alive_

_I would die for you_

_Climb the highest mountain_

_Baby, there's nothing I wouldn't do_

_I was standing_

_All alone against the world outside_

_You were searching_

_For a place to hide_

_Lost and lonely_

_Now you've given me the will to survive_

_When we're hungry... love will keep us alive_

_When we're hungry... love will keep us alive_

_When we're hungry... love will keep us alive_

_(Love Will Keep Us Alive, The Eagles)_


	21. Chapter Twenty: Something In the Air

**AN: So I was looking at the original pub date for this story, and realized that I've been working on it for over a year!  How sad is that?  I haven't even done half of what I set out to do with this story…and let's face it; I probably won't end up doing it, because I am just too lazy, lol.  Thanks to everyone (anyone?) who has stuck by this story…I'm sorry that I am slow!  **

**Story Summary: **1969.  Joey befriends Rachel, and struggles to put his bitterness behind him; Ross comes home; Phoebe comes to terms with Chris' death; Charles moves to Las Vegas, leaving Monica to fend for herself; Chandler struggles to recall the fateful weeks prior to his rescue.

The Age of Aquarius 

_Chapter Twenty: Something In the Air_

New York – Six Months Later

As much as he wanted to believe that she was here because she loved him, he just couldn't bring himself to see beyond his own bitterness and self-loathing.

She was here because she felt sorry for him.

But he loved her.  God, how he loved her…the way her eyes lit up when she was excited about something…the way she flipped her cinnamon hair with casual ease…the way she spoke to him…as though he were normal…as though he was…

As though he was the man he used to be.

Presently, Rachel was pacing the floor of his apartment, her hand firmly on her hip, her brow furrowed.  As she spoke into the phone receiver, her voice wavered between a stubborn determination, and a child-like pleading.

Joey smiled slightly, as she tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, and sighed deeply.

She was the most gorgeous creature he'd ever seen.

They had become good friends, and in his heart, Joey knew that it would go no further.  She listened to him when he was down, and always reassured him that he was more than he thought he was.

Some nights, when he would look deep into those bright hazel eyes, he would see her pain, and her loneliness.

He knew that she too, was lost…a soul adrift, just like him.

He wanted to be the person that saved her, but he knew she needed more than he could ever give.

So he was content to be her friend, to love her unconditionally, until she found what she needed—found what she was looking for.

"Joey?"

He started, and looked up at her, his eyes gleaming with tears he would not shed.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her tone brimming with genuine concern.

"Y-yeah, I was just…I was just thinking, that's all," he smiled sweetly, and shook off his self-pity, "is everything okay with your dad?"

"Yeah, he just…he can be so damn stubborn sometimes, ya know?"

Joey nodded, and swallowed down a lump that was forming in his throat.  His mind went to his parents, and to his sisters, but he quickly admonished the thoughts.  He couldn't let them see him…not like this.

"Joey," her voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up at her again, a fragile mask of neutrality covering his emotions.

"I'm sorry, Rach, I guess I'm just…tired," Joey shrugged, and wheeled away from Rachel slightly.

"Well, I don't know how you could possibly sleep with all of this…noise," Rachel wrinkled her nose and scanned Joey's tiny, dingy hotel room warily.

"It's okay," Joey shrugged, and looked out the filth-filmed window.

"Look, my friend Monica…she just inherited this place from her grandmother…it's pretty big and it's clean.  It's in a great neighborhood, and—"

"Rach, I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I'm fine, really.  And I don't need handouts!"

"I know that…but I also know that you can afford more than this…I saw your grant check from the Army, remember?  And what I was _going_ to say, before I was _interrupted_," Rachel continued with a small smile, "was that there's an apartment available across the hall from Monica.  And I thought it would be good if you got out of this place…if you were closer," Rachel smiled warmly, and Joey's resistance faltered.

"Is there an elevator?" he asked hesitantly.

"Uh, yeah, I think so," Rachel replied quickly.

"Hmm.  I—I guess it couldn't hurt to _look_ at it," Joey relented slowly.

"Yay!" Rachel clapped and kissed Joey on the cheek, "Okay, I'll go tell Monica…I'll come by and get you tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Sure," Joey smiled and watched, as Rachel hurried out of the hotel room.

He told himself that he was only doing this for her…because he just didn't deserve better than what he had.

**

"I just can't tell you how proud we are of our boy!  He is a _true hero_!" Judy gushed, as she sat down at the dinner table.  She looked at Ross proudly and sighed happily, making Ross feel even worse than he had.

The Geller's had invited their next-door neighbors over for dinner, so that Jack and Judy could brag about their son.  The Miller's were nice people, and Karen Miller had even babysat Ross and Monica several years earlier.  But lying to the Miller's the way he had lied to his parents was not something Ross was prepared to do.  

"Ross, why don't you tell Ron and Karen about the soldiers you rescued on the border?" Jack smiled proudly, then shoved a large hunk of meatloaf into his mouth.

"Oh, I don't know…" Ross shrugged, then swallowed uneasily.

"Oh, come on Ross, dear, its such a wonderful story!  He rescued not one, but two of his own men!" Judy turned to the Miller's, who were smiling politely at Ross.

"He pulled them out of the trenches and carried both men to safety!"

Ross sunk down in his chair, his stomach rolling with anxiety.

"Well that's just wonderful, sweetheart," Karen smiled.

"Yes, you're a true hero, Ross!" Ron added.

Ross smiled, and mumbled a quick thank you, before hastily excusing himself from the table, and retreating to the bathroom.  He closed and locked the door behind him, and sank to the floor, before dropping his head into his hands.

Why had he lied to his parents about that horrible day?  He'd watched two men, who were protecting _him_ die, and he'd done nothing to help them—to save them.

"I'm a horrible, horrible person," he whispered to himself, repeating the mantra as tears streaked his face.

**

"Monica?" Rachel called, as she walked into the apartment, "are you here?"

Rachel scanned the half-empty apartment, and shook her head in disbelief.

She still could not believe that Monica had inherited this place.

The apartment was bright and airy, and had to large bedrooms and a bathroom.  It was at least twice the size of Phoebe's apartment, and was in a great neighborhood.

In her final few months, Monica's grandmother had heard that her only granddaughter was raising a child on her own, and without any support from Jack and Judy.  The idea that her son and his wife could be so cold had infuriated Althea, and so she gave her only real asset to Monica, in hopes that it would help her somehow.

"Hey Rach," Monica smiled, as she carried Jakob and a bag of groceries into the apartment, "what are you doing?"

"I just…I still can't believe you got so lucky!  You _and_ Phoebe!  I wonder if my grandmother has an apartment to spare?" Rachel laughed.

Monica giggled, and set down the bag of groceries, "Well, you can stay here as long as you want to."

"Thanks," Rachel smiled, "Have you heard anything about the apartment across the hall?"

"I heard Treeger talking to someone about it yesterday…but I don't think he liked the person very much."

"Well I have someone it might be perfect for!" Rachel clapped excitedly.

"You mean your secret boyfriend you won't let me or Phoebe meet?" Monica teased.

"He's not my boyfriend!" Rachel sighed, "Yet," she muttered too quietly for Monica to hear, "But he's a Vet, and he's really sweet, and he needs to get out of that stinking resident hotel he's living in!"

"Okay, Rach, calm down," Monica smiled, and shifted Jakob in her arms, "Let's go talk to Treeger now, okay?"

**

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, just…staring, at the large home that stood ominously above him.  Though he'd grown up in the house, he'd never felt truly comfortable there.

His childhood was filled with memories of anger—his parents fought constantly, about everything from his mother's drinking to his father's infidelities.  

Sometimes, they fought about him.

He never saw himself coming back here, once he'd moved out…once he'd moved on.  But he had nowhere else to go, and found that even in the worst of times, the only people he had in his life were his parents.

He suddenly recalled a moment, when he was near death in the jungles of Vietnam.  His mother had been…with him, somehow.  Chandler furrowed his brow, and tried desperately to remember more, but the memory faded away again, as his unconscious defenses fought against memories that would surely destroy him.

He shook his head to clear his mind, and looked up at the large wooden door, hovering over him sinisterly.  He raised a scarred hand, and knocked heavily on the door.

There was a light, and footsteps, and Chandler held his breath.  The lock jangled, and the door swung open, to reveal a pretty young woman, about his age, with short brown-red hair and shining blue-green eyes.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice slightly revealing her annoyance.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm looking for Charles and Nora Bing," Chandler stuttered slowly.

"Hang on," the girl sighed, and walked down the long hallway, "Mooom," the girl bellowed, "there's a guy here looking for the Bing's."

An older, dark haired woman appeared, her face slightly worn, but chocolate brown eyes, and a slight smile softened her overall appearance.  She approached Chandler quickly, and ushered him into the foyer.

"I'm Carolyn Brown, and that was my daughter, Claire.  How do you know the Bing's?"

"I—I'm their son, Chandler," he replied, confusion lining his eyes.

"I figured as much," Carolyn nodded, and sighed deeply, "Chandler, won't you come in?" Carolyn led Chandler to an immaculately clean living room; filled with furniture that Chandler was sure had never been used.  It reminded him of a museum.

"Please, sit down," Carolyn said warmly, and sat down next to Chandler on the stark white sofa.

"Where are my parents?" Chandler whispered, with more desperation than he had intended.

"Oh, I hate to be the bearer of such terrible news, especially when you've just come home from fighting in that…_war_," Carolyn took one of Chandler's hands, and he stiffened slightly.

"Your mother is gone, Chandler.  She died quite some time ago.  And your father…he sold the house and moved soon afterward.  I think…I think he thought _you_ were dead too.  I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Chandler nodded robotically, and swallowed thickly, "Did…did he say where he was going?" he croaked.

"No, I'm sorry, he didn't," Carolyn sighed, "But if you need to stay here, until you can get back on your feet, we have an extra room—"

"No, no," Chandler smiled politely and stood, "I…I should go.  Thank you, for being so kind," Chandler nodded, and walked quickly out of the house.  He ran down the driveway then stopped at the curb, when he realized that he had nowhere to go.  He heard footsteps behind him, and he spun around quickly.

"Hey, my Mom wanted you to have this," Claire smiled slightly, and handed Chandler a wad of money with one hand, while she pushed her hair out of her face with the other.

"Oh.  Um, thank you, but I—"

"She won't take 'no' for an answer," Claire insisted, and shoved the money into Chandler's jacket pocket.

"Thanks," Chandler flushed, and looked at his feet.

"I…I'm sorry about your folks, Chandler," Claire said sincerely, and Chandler looked up at her.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"What was it like…over there?" Claire asked tentatively.

"It's…worse than anyone could imagine," Chandler mumbled grimly, his gaze wandering past Claire, to the empty suburban streets that surrounded him.

"Hey, do you wanna go get a drink or something?  Talk about it?" Claire ventured.

Chandler turned and looked at the girl, a small smile forming on his face.

He had nothing else to do…nowhere else to go.

"Sure," Chandler grinned, and Claire smiled back.

"I'll just get my coat," Claire said, and dashed into the house.

Chandler watched her go, his smile fading slightly.

Nothing was ever going to be the same.

Still don't know what I was waiting for

And my time was running wild

A million dead-end streets and

Every time I thought I'd got it made

It seemed the taste was not so sweet

So I turned myself to face me

But I've never caught a glimpse

Of how the others must see the faker

I'm much too fast to take that test

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

(turn and face the strain)

Ch-ch-changes

Don't want to be a richer man

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

(turn and face the strain)

Ch-ch-changes

Just gonna have to be a different man

Time may change me

But I can't trace time

I watch the ripples change their size

But never leave the stream

Of warm impermanence

So the days float through my eyes

But stil the days seem the same

And these children that you spit on

As they try to change their worlds

Are immune to your consultations

They're quite aware of what they're going through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

(turn and face the strain)

Ch-ch-changes

Don't tell them to grow up and out of it

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

(turn and face the strain)

Ch-ch-changes

Where's your shame

You've left us up to our necks in it

Time may change me

But you can't trace time

Strange fascination, fascinating me

Ah changes are taking the pace I'm going through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

(turn and face the strain)

Ch-ch-changes

Oh, look out you rock 'n rollers

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

(turn and face the strain)

Ch-ch-changes

Pretty soon now you're gonna get a little older

Time may change me

But I can't trace time

I said that time may change me

But I can't trace time

("Changes", D. Bowie)


	22. Chapter Twenty One: Keep Me Safe

**Story Summary**: 1969.  Joey befriends Rachel, and struggles to put his bitterness behind him; Ross comes home; Phoebe comes to terms with Chris' death; Charles moves to Las Vegas, leaving Monica to fend for herself; Chandler struggles to recall the fateful weeks prior to his rescue.

_The Age of Aquarius_

_Chapter Twenty-One: Keep Me Safe_

"So tell me your story, soldier," Claire said softly, once she and Chandler were settled in a large, red plastic booth, in a darkened corner of the tiny, nondescript bar.  Claire watched silently as Chandler studied his drink, and struggled to determine how much of himself he should reveal to a stranger.

"Th-there isn't much to tell," Chandler shrugged, and picked at the tabletop nervously.

"How'd you get that scar on your face?" Claire persisted.

"Are you always this forward with total strangers?" Chandler replied quickly, but ran a finger over the jagged scar shakily.

"Just strangers that interest me," Claire winked, and took a long sip of her gin and tonic.

Chandler laughed, his gaze once again finding his glass.  He sighed deeply, and for a long moment, the table was silent.

"I never even wanted to go there," Chandler finally whispered, "I was one of those people that stood outside the city hall, protesting.  But my dad—" Chandler sighed, and for a moment, he was lost in thought—in memories.  His final exchange with his father had not been a pleasant one—and Chandler had regretted it the moment he'd stepped foot on foreign soil.  He closed his eyes, and prayed that somehow his father knew—had always known—that deep down, Chandler loved him.  He opened his eyes, and flushed slightly when he realized that Claire was staring at him, still waiting for him to finish his sentence.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"It's okay," Claire smiled, and placed her hand on his.  He tensed, but didn't pull away.

"What's her name?" Claire asked, noting Chandler's uneasy demeanor.

"Who?" Chandler furrowed his brow.

"The girl you left behind," she replied, and Chandler flushed again.

"Is it that obvious?" 

"Well, I am a Psych major," Claire smiled.

"That explains it then," Chandler laughed, and took a sip of scotch.  He ignored the slow burn the fiery alcohol sent through him, and looked up at Claire.

"Monica.  Her name's Monica," he croaked.

"Where is she now?" Claire wondered.

"I—I don't know.  I heard…from her family…that she had moved on.  But…I don't know."

"Don't you want to find out?" Claire asked gently.

Chandler looked down at his glass, and shook his head.

"Why not?"

Chandler shrugged, and scratched at his glass anxiously, "I—I'm not the same person…I feel…I feel like a shell of the person I was.  I don't think she'd like what I've become."

"Maybe she's changed too," Claire offered.

"It's…it just isn't the same," Chandler sighed, exasperated, "Something happened to me over there…something that I can't remember.  I think…I think maybe I did something I wasn't supposed to…or I saw something too awful for words.  I'm afraid to find out what that something is, but I know that I need to know—does that make sense?"

"You can't move on, unless you know what you are moving on from," Claire stated.

"Yeah, something like that.  It's just…" Chandler looked around the bar slowly, "everything is so different here…I'm different.  I feel like and outsider—like I don't belong here."

"I guess it's hard not to feel that way…with your parents gone and stuff," Claire said quietly.

Chandler looked down again, then over at Claire.

"Do you know…how my mother died?" he asked slowly, quietly.

"No…no I'm sorry, I don't."

Chandler nodded slightly.  "I…I wish I could talk to her again," he said softly, "I wish I had been here."

"I'm sorry," Claire whispered, and squeezed his hand.  "Maybe you should try to find Monica…even if she has moved on…it seems like you could really use a friend."

"Yeah," Chandler nodded, and sighed sadly, before downing his scotch.

"I don't know about this, Rach," Joey shook his head, as Rachel wheeled him into the elevator of her building.

"I know the elevator looks old and rickety, but it works fine," Rachel replied with a soft smile.

"No…I mean about the apartment.  I…I don't know—"

"Joey, you'll be fine.  You need to get out of that dingy little hotel room—you deserve better."

Joey shrugged silently, and stared at his hands, as the elevator slowly ascended to the next floor.  The door slid open, and Rachel pushed Joey down a long corridor, and to a green door.

"This is it!  Aren't you excited?" Rachel clapped energetically and pulled a key out of her bag.

"Yeah," Joey laughed nervously, as Rachel opened the apartment door.

"Oh hey Rach, you're back," the door across the hall opened, and Monica appeared, just as Rachel and Joey were moving into the apartment.

"Hey Mon!  This is Joey!" Rachel gestured down toward Joey, and Monica smiled and extended her hand.  Joey turned, and Monica's smile faded.

"Joey?" she gasped, and Rachel's eyes widened.

"Monica…wow, um…you live here?"

"You two know each other?"

Monica and Joey turned to look at Rachel, who had her hands on her hips and a defiant pout on her face.

"Rach, this is Chandler's friend Joey!" Monica explained, and Rachel visibly relaxed.

"Joey…what…um…what happened?" Monica ventured.

"A land mine," Joey said shortly, and rolled into the empty apartment.  Rachel smiled uncomfortably and followed him.

"So, uh, this is the place…it's nice, huh?" Rachel said quickly.

Joey turned his chair to face Rachel.

"Is Chandler here too?" he asked coldly.

"Uh, no, he—"

"He never came back," Monica said quietly, as she walked into the apartment, "I was…hoping you might know where he is…what happened to him?" Monica's voice was timid, and desperate, and Joey felt a twinge of guilt course through him.  Why was he being so cold?

"I—the last time I saw him we were running from the enemy.  Well, he was running," Joey laughed bitterly and pointed at his stump.

"How did you get away?"

"They…put me on a helicopter.  The pilot said that they didn't have room for all of us…so Chandler stayed behind.  I—"Joey swallowed hard and looked away from the girls guiltily, "I think he may have been captured again…or, um—"

"Killed," Monica finished, and Joey looked up at her.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's—" Monica was interrupted by Jakob's shrill cries.

"Oh, I have to—I'm sorry," Monica stuttered, and rushed out of the apartment.

"She has…a baby?" Joey looked up at Rachel.

"It's Chandler's," Rachel said sadly, and Joey nodded.

Why hadn't he been left behind that day?  Chandler had a baby…and someone who clearly still loved him. 

And he had nothing.

He looked at Rachel, who was wandering through the empty apartment, and sighed.

Maybe he had more than he thought he had after all.

"Rach?" 

"Yeah?" Rachel walked back into the living room.

"I'll take it.  I'll take the apartment."

_Two Days Later_

"Can I help you?" the older man standing at the door looked at him strangely, his gaze softening as he clearly began to realize that the man at his door was a soldier…or used to be anyway.

"I-I'm sorry to bother you sir, but I was…looking for Monica Geller?" Chandler asked tentatively.

The man's scowl returned, but instead of replying, he turned and yelled into the house.

"Judy!  There's a kid here looking for Monica!

Chandler bit his lip nervously, as moments later, an older woman appeared in the doorway.

"Who are you?" the woman asked coldly.

"I-I'm Chandler Bing…a…friend of Monica's.  I-is she here?"

"Monica has a family, and is living in California," Judy said quickly, and disappeared into the house.

"I…sir, do you know how I can reach—"

"I'm sorry son, we haven't heard from Monica since she moved away," Jack said wearily, and smiled sympathetically.

"Oh, okay," Chandler looked at the ground dejectedly, and extended his hand, "Thank you for your time, sir."

Jack shook his hand, and watched the young man turn to walk away.  

"Dad, who's at the door?"

"Just a kid looking for your sister."

"Lieutenant?"

Chandler turned back toward the house, his eyes widening.

"Private," Chandler muttered.

"Y-you two know each other?" Jack asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Ross smiled.

"Is this one of the men you helped across the border?" Jack asked.

Chandler's brow furrowed and Ross' eyes widened.

"N-no, um…"

"Ross did take a bullet for me, sir," Chandler said suddenly, and winked at Ross.

Ross swallowed hard and looked at Chandler, his stomach churning.  He looked at the Lieutenant's scarred face and hands, his sad eyes, and his dingy jacket, and he felt guilt creep into him.  He realized suddenly that by lying to his parents, by lying to his friends and family, he was disrespecting the men that truly deserved to be called a hero.  Men like the one standing before him.

"Dad, I think we should all go inside.  There's something about Chandler you need to know."

AN:  Ahhhh, it's all coming together…they are all meeting up again!  But if you think anything is gonna get resolved before the 30th chapter…you'd be wrong.  LOL.  God, I hope I'm kidding.

Review please!  And don't run with scissors.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two: Dazed and Confused

**AN: Holy moly, two posts on this story within the…month!  Don't get used to it, lol.**

**Story Summary**: 1969/1970: Ross tells all about his tour in Vietnam, after he unexpectedly runs into Chandler; Joey moves into the apartment across the hall from Monica and Rachel; Monica discovers that Chandler may be dead after all; Chandler returns home to discover everything has changed.

The Age of Aquarius

_Chapter Twenty-Two: Dazed & Confused_

_I know what it means to be alone, I sure do wish I was at home. _

_I don't care what the neighbors say, I'm gonna love you each and every day. _

_You can feel the beat within my heart. _

_Realize, sweet babe, we ain't ever gonna part._

(Bonham/Jones/Page)

"What's this about, son?" Jack Geller queried, as Ross ushered everyone into the living room.

"It's about Vietnam.  It's about what I told you," Ross said shakily, and turned away from his parents, who were looking up at him with furrowed brows.

"Private—er—Ross, I don't think this is really necessary," Chandler stood nervously.

"No sir!  No, it—it is," Ross exclaimed, and Chandler sat down slowly.

"You see," Ross started nervously, as he paced in front of the stone fireplace, "the stories I've told you…well, they're just that.  Stories.  Many of them I got from the soldiers that were working around me…the thing is…I was never good in the field.  I was assigned to work with Captain Harrison…as his clerk.  And then…and then after that, I was assigned to the Embassy in Saigon."

"I don't understand, son.  Why are you telling us this now?  And why did you make up all of those stories?" Jack asked softly.

"I wanted you to be proud of me!  I wanted to come home a hero!  But…all I ever did was push paper in an air-conditioned office.  

The thing is, I met the Lieutenant on my way to Saigon.  That story I told you about escorting soldiers to the border?  That wasn't me—that was him," Ross pointed at Chandler, but refused to look at him.

"Ross, you don't have to do this," Chandler said slowly.

"Yes, I do.  You and Joey saved my life that day.  And—and I thought you were dead.  I thought you died taking me to my new, boring desk job!  And I think about that day, all the time.  It haunts me, sir."

"Ross, please…please don't call me sir.  You didn't do anything wrong—"

"I didn't do anything right, either."

_"Get to the Jeeps Ross!" Chandler screamed, as the popping from the guns seemed to increase._

_"Come with me!" Ross yelled._

_"We're covering you—get to the border!"_

_"You have to come with me!  You'll never get back to your Platoon!" Ross argued, as he shot into the trees once._

_"Private, I am giving you a direct order.  Go!" Chandler pushed Ross toward the Jeeps._

_Ross ran at full speed, and could feel the whizzing of the bullets at his feet and near his head.  Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his leg, and he collapsed into the mud._

_"Aargh," Ross cried out, and pulled himself up._

_He was now only a few feet from the border.  He looked back, and saw that the Viet Cong were closing in on Chandler and Joey.  He felt an officer pick him up, and carry him toward the Jeeps._

_"You have to help them," Ross yelled._

_A sudden explosion sent the officer, and Ross to the ground.  Coughing wildly, Ross sat up, and looked out into the clearing._

_The field was scattered with bodies, and there was no movement anywhere._

_The silence was deafening; the smell of burning flesh made him want to throw up._

_He did throw up.  Then he sat up, and looked up at the smoke-shielded sky, and wondered why he was the only one that was spared._

Ross relayed the true events of that day to his parents in horrifying detail.  The room sat in silence for several minutes, until Ross looked down at Chandler, and asked the question that had been on his mind since Chandler's arrival.

"Sir, um, Chandler, what-what happened to Joey?"

Chandler looked up at Ross, and for a moment seemed totally vulnerable.  Chandler looked back down at his hands and shook his head slowly.

"I—I honestly don't know.  He—he lost his leg in the explosion.  And then we were captured.  We…we got out, and I…I got him to a chopper…but I never heard anything after that…I don't think I did anyway."

"Sir?"

"I…I don't really remember anything after that.  I…I hardly remember coming home," Chandler laughed bitterly, and took a deep breath, "I—I should go," Chandler stood, "It was a pleasure to meet you both.  You have a very brave son, despite what he says," Chandler smiled, and extended his hand to Jack.

"Th-thank you, Lieutenant," Jack shook Chandler's hand, while Judy avoided his gaze.  Chandler nodded his goodbye once more, and followed Ross out the front door.

"Th-thank you, sir, for…being so understanding."

"You need to put it behind you, Ross.  You really did nothing wrong," Chandler replied.

"Still…thank you."

"Ross…I know what your parents told me…about your sister.  Do you know, is it true?  Is Monica in California…with a family?" Chandler looked at Ross pleadingly, forcing Ross to look at his shoes.

"I…I haven't talked to her since I've been back.  But my parents have a couple of postcards from her…they're signed _from Monica and Jakob_.  I—I don't know who Jakob is, though."

Chandler nodded and smiled sadly.

"Thanks Ross.  Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah," Ross said distantly, and watched Chandler walk away.

"Joey?  Are you here?" Rachel walked into Joey's apartment, a box of pizza in her hand.

"In here," Joey said, almost too quietly for Rachel to hear.

"Where?" Rachel opened Joey's bedroom door, to find him sprawled out on the floor, his wheelchair tipped over beside him.

"Oh God, Joey!  What happened?" Rachel cried, and moved to pick up the chair and help Joey.

"I…I don't know, really.  I was trying to get out of bed, and I slipped on something…I think I sprained my ankle.  Can you believe that shit?" Joey laughed bitterly.

"Oh, sweetie," Rachel helped Joey into his chair, then crouched down to inspect his swollen ankle.

"How does it look?" Joey asked.

"It's sprained.  Monica probably has an ice pack you can use.  Honey, why didn't you call for help?"

"Because…it was embarrassing, okay?  I mean, I'm a grown man for Christ sake!"

"So?  Everyone needs help from time to time—"

"From time to time?  _Look at me_ Rachel?  I'm a freak!  I can't do a damn thing on my own!  Do you think I want to live like this?  I hate this?  I hate that I'm alive!  I hate Chandler for letting me survive!  If he were any kind of friend, he would have fucking shot me in the head that day!" Joey took a ragged breath, and let his tears fall freely.  He looked up at Rachel, who was crying too, and he smiled sadly.

"The only thing I have to live for—is you," Joey whispered softly.

"Joey," Rachel sobbed, and collapsed into his lap, before kissing him passionately.

"I love you, Rach," Joey managed between kisses.

Rachel pulled away and looked at Joey, tears still streaming down her face.

"I love you too," she whispered, and he pulled her toward him again.  He kissed her fiercely, both of them sobbing with relief and pain.

"You're not a freak, Joey," Rachel whispered, "I love you just the way you are."

"I feel…I don't know…like I'm not a real man anymore.  The way everyone looks at me—"

"Don't worry about them," Rachel interrupted, "Joey…maybe you should…I don't know—"

"What?"

"Look into some of those veteran support groups.  Maybe if you saw that there were others who felt the same—"

"Other freaks," Joey spat.

"Other _veterans_," Rachel corrected, "then you would know that you aren't alone."

"Maybe.  But I have you, right?" Joey smiled.

"Yeah, you have me…always," Rachel kissed Joey again.  She pulled away, and arched her eyebrow coyly.

"What?" Joey asked, his face reddening slightly.

"I think you know," Rachel purred, and pulled at Joey's shirt.  

Though aroused, Joey grabbed Rachel's wrists to stop her.

"Rach…my body…it's…been burned…it isn't—"

Rachel placed her hand over Joey's lips, and pulled off his shirt.  She studied his scarred torso for a moment, then looked up at him, smiling.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, before kissing him again.

Monica curled into the corner of her sofa, her head heavy with exhaustion.  Jakob was suffering from an ear infection, and had been keeping her up all night for nearly a week.  Her head lolled back, and she felt sleep creeping up on her, just as her phone rang.

Groaning, she sat up and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Monica?"

"Phoebe…what's wrong, are you okay?"

"I'm…in jail."

"Jail!  Wh-why? What happened?"

"I…I don't want to talk about it over the phone.  Could you…I mean, can you come get me?"

"Of course…Pheebs I'll be right there."

Monica got the details from Phoebe and hung up the phone.  She quietly checked on Jakob, then walked across the hall.

"Rachel?" Monica poked her head into Joey's apartment.  The lights were off, and it appeared to be empty.  Monica was about to leave, when she heard giggling emanate from Joey's bedroom.

"Rachel?" Monica called louder.  Moments later, Rachel emerged from Joey's bedroom, wrapped in nothing but his bed sheet.

"Monica, what's wrong?  It's 3 in the morning!"

"Phoebe's in jail!"

"What?"

"I don't know why yet…but I have to go get her—can you keep an eye on Jake?"

"Of course…is she okay?"

"I don't know."

Phoebe paced the small holding cell nervously, her entire body trembling.  Why had she agreed to take this job?  She should have known it was shady as soon as her boss had told her that she was being paid in cash.  But she was desperate for money, and she knew she didn't have skills for anything else.  Who else would hire a girl with no diploma and no experience?

She heard the clanging of keys on metal, and looked up to see the guard walking through the corridor.  He walked past her cell, and opened the door for one of her 'coworkers'.

"Let's go, sweetheart.  Your parents are here."

The girl looked at the floor, and flushed, as the guard led her out of the cellblock.  She too was trembling, and Phoebe knew that it wasn't from the cold.

Phoebe smiled supportively, as the girl left.

If only _she_ had parents to yell at her.

But she didn't.  She had nobody, and that was why she was able to do this.

It was only supposed to be a massaging clinic; but most of her clients didn't seem interested in a shoulder rub.

She never really saw herself as the type of girl who would sell herself.  But after her world collapsed around her, she felt nothing but numb.

She was always numb when those greasy bastards touched her.

It was only a matter of time before the "clinic" was stormed and shut down.

And now what was she going to do?  Who was going to hire a girl with no diploma, no experience…and a criminal record?

Phoebe sighed deeply, and slumped into the far corner of her cell, and awaited her fate.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three: Promises Broken

**AN: For all my poor fellow Mondlers that felt so deprived by the last chapter…and for Helga who is being tortured by my evil Mondler ways… ; )**

**Story Summary**: 1969/1970: Ross tells all about his tour in Vietnam, after he unexpectedly runs into Chandler; Joey moves into the apartment across the hall from Monica and Rachel; Monica discovers that Chandler may be dead after all; Chandler returns home to discover everything has changed.

The Age of Aquarius

_Chapter Twenty-Three: Promises Broken_

His head was spinning.

As much as he had tried to prepare himself for the news that Monica had really moved on, he just could not accept that she hadn't waited for him.

_She'd promised_.

They hadn't really even known each other long, before he'd been shipped off to that God-forsaken place.  But at the time, he'd felt like his world was in chaos, and she had been the one thing that had made him feel…

Safe.

He'd fallen in love with her, without even realizing it, and only when he was thousands of miles away did he truly appreciate it.

He had not realized…had not even considered…the idea that she never felt the same.

Still…on that day that he left her…the day that he'd said goodbye, she'd sworn to wait for him, and her promise had seemed so real…so genuine.

Sometimes, when he'd been waist-deep in a rice paddy, struggling to stay awake, praying that he'd live to see tomorrow, he'd hold on to that promise, and it would lift him…it would give him the strength he needed, when he had nothing of himself left.

_But it was a promise she could not keep._

He tried hard to understand that.  To understand that whoever this _Jakob_ was, he had something that _he_ did not…that he had been here, when Chandler couldn't be.

But it still tore him up inside.

He sat on the stoop of his parent's old house, sucking down his forth cigarette, trying to figure out if he really wanted to knock on the front door.

He wasn't sure why he'd come here.  He wasn't sure if he really wanted to talk to Claire.  He'd walked here without thinking, and only when he'd reached the door had he considered what he was doing.

That was an hour ago.

He pulled out a fifth cigarette, lit it, and sucked it halfway to the filter.

He pulled it from his mouth, and noticed that his hands were shaky.  His eyes fell onto a long scar across the back of his hand.  The scar started at his index finger, and ran halfway up his arm.

He still had no idea how it had gotten there.

The door opened and Chandler froze, his mind trying to come up with a logical excuse for his being here.

"Chandler?  Wh-what are you doing here?" Claire stepped out onto the porch, and sat down next to Chandler, as he stubbed out his cigarette.

"I-I'm sorry…I…I didn't know where else to go," he finally said softly.

"Did you talk to Monica?"

"No.  She…she's in California."

"California?"

"She's moved on," Chandler said simply, and Claire gasped.

"Moved on?  But I—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Chandler said shortly, and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands.

"I'm sorry," Claire whispered, and placed her hand on his shoulder.  Chandler looked at her, his eyes dark and bloodshot.

"I guess…I just really need a friend right now," he rasped.

"Okay," Claire smiled, and wrapped her arm around Chandler's shoulders.  He laid his head on her shoulder, and let out a deep sigh.

They sat together silently, watching as the sky burst into an array of pastels, eventually giving way to an inky darkness.

"When I was over there," Chandler said suddenly, causing Claire to start slightly, "I would look up at the sky, and…there would be a million stars, winking at me.  I'd never seen so many stars in my entire life."

"It sounds nice," Claire replied.

"It was funny, because all I could think about was that I would give anything to be under the starless night in New York.  Is that weird?"

"No," Claire smiled slightly, "it's not weird at all.  You were homesick, and the stars just reminded you how far away from home you were."

"There are no stars up there tonight," Chandler sighed, "but I still don't feel like I'm home."

"It…it will take time," Claire replied softly.

"I suppose."

"Come on," Claire stood up, and extended her hand.

"Where?" Chandler took Claire's hand, and stood up.

"I want to show you something."

She led him into the house, and upstairs to her bedroom—the bedroom that used to belong to him.  She crossed the room and picked up a framed photograph.  Silently, she handed him the photo.

The photo was of Claire, with a tall, handsome man about their age.  The couple was smiling brightly, and standing on the same steps they had just come from.

"That's my boyfriend, John.  We'd been dating for two years before he was drafted."

"Is he still over there?" Chandler asked softly.

"No.  He was killed two weeks after landing.  He's buried next to his brother in Scarsdale."

"Oh…Claire, I-I'm sorry."

"He promised me he'd be back; that we'd get married and buy a house and live happily ever after.  That was the last thing he said to me before he left.  And it was the last thing he ever said to me.

I guess everyone breaks their promises."

"Yeah," Chandler whispered, and handed the photo back to Claire.  She looked at it for a long moment, and ran her thumb over is slowly, before placing back on her dresser.

"It's hard, Chandler," Claire said, softly, her eyes on her shoes, "but you have to move on.  For your own sanity, ya know?"

"Yeah," Chandler said softly, and she looked up at him, her blue-green eyes shining, "thank you."

"For what?"

"For…everything…for listening.  For sharing.  For making me feel…at home, again."

"Are you hungry?" Claire asked suddenly, then surreptitiously wiped an impending tear from her eye.

"Yeah, I guess," Chandler smiled.

"Okay, let's go," Claire smiled, and led Chandler out of the room and down to the kitchen.  She opened the refrigerator, and dug around inside silently for a moment.  She closed the fridge, and looked up at Chandler.

"We don't have anything to eat."

Chandler laughed, and shook his head.

"Let's go get something," he suggested.

They walked out to the front porch, both of them looking up at the starless sky silently.

"Your welcome, by the way," Claire smiled slightly, and looked up at Chandler.

He turned to look at her, a slight smile on his face.  He wordlessly pulled her into a hug, then took her hand and led her down the steps, and toward her car.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked.

"Let's go into the city…I feel like being around…noise."

"Sounds good," Chandler smiled, "but you'll have to drive.  My license expired while I was gone."

"Did you really think I was going to let you drive my car?" Claire winked.

"Well, I figured since you were paying for dinner…" Chandler laughed.

"Hey, look at that, I got you to smile," Claire said.

"Only by smiling yourself," Chandler pointed out, and Claire giggled.

"All right, get in the car, soldier," Claire instructed.

"Is it safe?  Does it…run?" Chandler raised his eyebrow warily as he scanned the beat up Pinto.

"Would you rather we take your _invisible car_?"

"Got me," Chandler chuckled, and climbed into the passenger seat.

He sat back in the seat, and closed his eyes, as Claire started the car.  He smiled slightly at the familiar sound.  Claire's car sputtered and wailed much the same way Phoebe's van used to.  Phoebe.  He wondered whatever happened to his eccentric friend.

"Ready?" Claire asked, pulling Chandler from his thoughts.

"Yeah," he nodded, and shook the memories of his past from his mind.

Claire was right.  It was time to move on.

"Phoebe, what the hell is going on?" Monica stood up and rushed to her friend, as she was being escorted to the main lobby of the station.

"It's a long story, Mon, can we just go home?" Phoebe said wearily.

"Yeah," Monica replied, and stepped back as Phoebe signed some documents.  

They walked out of the station in silence, and did not speak again until they had reached Monica and Rachel's apartment.

"Is this okay?  I thought it would be better if you stayed with us tonight," Monica said timidly.

"Yeah," Phoebe replied nonchalantly, though in truth she was more than happy to stay with her friends.  The last thing she wanted was to be alone tonight.

"You can probably stay in Rachel's room.  It seems she has decided to start sleeping with our new neighbor," Monica laughed, as they ascended the steps of the building.

Phoebe shrugged, and followed Monica to her apartment.  Monica opened the door to find Jakob screaming in a frantic Rachel's arms.  Joey was sitting by the window, looking both horrified and depressed.

"Oh Monica, thank God!  He won't stop crying, and I don't know what to do!" Rachel cried.

"Oh, it's okay Rach, I'm sorry…I shouldn't have left him when he's so sick," Monica took Jakob from Rachel, and attempted to soothe him.

Rachel sighed in relief when Monica took Jakob, then focused her attention on Phoebe, who was lingering in the doorway.

"Phoebe, are you okay?" Rachel asked, and pulled her into the apartment.

"Yeah, I…Joey?"

"Pheebs?"

"Joey, what are you…what happened to your leg?"

"It got blown off…Pheebs what are you doing here?  Why were you in jail?"

"Wow, Joey, do you know every woman in New York?" Rachel arched her eyebrow.

"Rach, I met Phoebe at a protest rally years ago!  I can't believe you're here!"

"I know!  Where's Chandler, is he here too?" Phoebe smiled and scanned the apartment.

Joey's face darkened, and Rachel looked at her feet, but no one said anything.

"He's missing," Rachel finally whispered, hoping that Monica couldn't hear her over Jakob's screaming.  The last thing she wanted to do was remind Monica of the situation.

Monica had heard Rachel, but chose to ignore it at focus all of her energy on Jakob.  She quietly excused herself and walked into her bedroom.

"Wow, that's awful," Phoebe said softly, then looked at Joey, who was no longer looking at them.

"Joey, how long have you been back?"

"A while.  I didn't know how to get a hold of you," Joey said apologetically.

"It's okay," Phoebe said quickly.

An uncomfortable silence formed, and Rachel cleared her throat to break the tension.

"So Pheebs, what happened?  Why were you in jail?"

Phoebe reddened and looked at her shoes, "I think we should wait for Monica," she said quietly, "I haven't told her yet, either."

Rachel nodded, and once again, the room was silent.  Joey took Rachel's hand and gave it a light squeeze, a move that did not go unnoticed by Phoebe.  She felt herself flush with an unexpected jealousy, and turned away from the scene before anyone could notice.  Monica emerged moments later, having successfully put Jakob down again.

"So, Phoebe, what happened?" Monica asked, unaware of the strange tension that had filled the room.

"The job I had downtown…it wasn't exactly a _legal_ business," Phoebe said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked.

"There was more than…massaging going on there," Phoebe shrugged, and sat heavily on Monica's sofa.

"Oh, sweetie, you didn't know.  It's not your fault!" Monica said sympathetically.

"Oh no, I knew," Phoebe said, and Monica's eyes widened.

"Phoebe, you weren't…I mean, you didn't—"

"_Whore _myself out for money?  Actually, Mon, I did," Phoebe said angrily, and stood up again.

"Phoebe!  Why?" Rachel asked.

"Well, unlike _some_ people, I don't have a rich daddy to spoil me," Phoebe spat.

"Neither do I," Monica said sternly.

"Really, Monica?  What about _Charles Bing_?"

Monica's face reddened, and Joey looked at her, confused.

"Chandler's father?  What does he have to do with this?"

"He sends her checks, for Jakob," Phoebe said bitterly.

"Phoebe, tell us what we can do to help you," Monica said, determined to change the subject.

"Nothing, okay?  I can take care of myself," Phoebe yelled, and stormed out of the apartment.

She made it all the way to the street, before she fell to her knees and sobbed.

Chandler and Claire found themselves on Claire's front porch again later that night, staring up at the sky in silence.

"It's weird," Chandler said softly, "being back here.  It's such a different world."

"Have you had any luck with your missing time?" Claire asked.

"My what?"

"The time you lost over there.  The months that you can't recall."

"No," Chandler shook his head and sighed, "I wish I could remember…so that I could get past it."

"Yeah," Claire sighed.

Chandler looked down at Claire, and noted the sadness that still lined her face.  She looked up at him, and smiled.

"You need to follow your own advice," he said softly.

"You mean John?  I am trying…it's gonna take time."

"Yeah," Chandler agreed, and pulled Claire into a hug.  She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder, "maybe we can heal each other," he whispered.

Claire felt a lump form in her throat, and nodded silently.  She'd been so closed off from the world since John's funeral, so much so that she had dropped out of school and locked herself away in her mother's house.  When she had first met Chandler, he'd felt like an unwelcome intrusion—he reminded her too much of John.  But she'd been drawn to him, perhaps because she felt sorry for him.  He'd looked so lonely that night he'd shown up at their door, and she felt horrible that his parents weren't around.

She hadn't talked about John with anyone since his death—not even her mother.  But somehow, she felt she could trust Chandler.  He made her feel…safe.  And she needed that right now, more than anything.

She needed him, just like he needed her.

She tightened her arms around Chandler, and closed her eyes.

Maybe they could save each other.

AN: Holy Moly I'm on a freaking roll!  This is probably it for a while though…maybe…we'll see.  Review!  Pleeeeeeze!


	25. Chapter Twenty Four: Cold and Broken Hal...

_AN: Thank you all kindly for your wonderful feedback, and for you patience with this one.  It's gonna take me a few more chapters to resolve it all…which means more waiting.  Sorry!!_

_The Age of Aquarius_

_Chapter Twenty-Four: Cold and Broken Hallelujah_

Two Months Later

Joey watched with nervous anticipation, as swarms of holiday shoppers moved past him, with their flushed cheeks and dancing eyes, their arms loaded with gifts, their chatter animated and rushed.

No one ever looked his way.

Even if they did happen to see him sitting there, in the darkened corner of the coffeehouse, they paid him no mind—they did not bother with a second glance.

In this time of warmth and love, charity and humanity, holidays and family, no one wanted to be reminded of the darker side of the human condition.

To acknowledge a wounded veteran would do nothing but remind the revelers that there had been a war—there was a war still—and there were people dying, suffering, and feeling the constant sting of absolute loneliness.

Joey raised his head, and his eyes fell upon the towering Rockefeller Center tree, just yards away.  The star-like lights winked at him knowingly, as more shoppers danced their way through the plaza, desperately trying to tune out reality.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Rachel whispered, and sat down at a chair adjacent to Joey's, "What are you thinking about?"

"It's strange," Joey said after a short moment, "being here at Christmastime.  Last year, Christmas came and went, and I didn't even realize it."

He felt her take his hand in hers, and squeeze it reassuringly.

And he realized that still, after all this time, he wondered if she was only here because she pitied him.

Why would someone so achingly beautiful, want someone like him? 

He kept his feelings to himself, knowing that she would deny it, if asked.  Still, there were times when she would drift away, her mind elsewhere, and he would wonder what she was thinking…who was on her mind.

He'd never had the courage to ask.

"What do you want for Christmas?" Rachel asked, as she sipped her coffee daintily.

"Besides the obvious?" Joey laughed, and pointed at his missing leg.

Rachel smiled, and moved to his lap, before runner her hand through his hair slowly.

"I dunno," Joey sobered, "I have you…that's all I really need."

"Yeah?" Rachel flushed.

"Yeah," Joey whispered, and kissed her softly.

"Rach, I—"

"Rachel?"

Rachel straightened, and whipped her head around, her voice catching in her throat.

"R-Ross?"

"I thought you were in California with Monica?"

"Ross…you're alive?" Rachel stood and took a small step toward Ross, her knees shaky and her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

This isn't real… 

"Yeah…I've been home for a while."

"I just…I can't believe your alive," Rachel whispered, her throat suddenly dry and her hands clammy.  She wrapped her arms around him, and felt him hug her tightly.  He was alive.  After all this time…he was here…he was alive.  She heard Joey's chair click, and reality came crashing back.  Ross was here…but she had moved on.  As though he were reading her thoughts, Ross pulled away and looked down at her crossly.

"It looks like you've moved on," he said, his eyes darkening.

"Ross—"

"I guess this means we aren't engaged anymore?" he cried, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Engaged?  Ross we were—"

"Maybe I should go," Joey said suddenly, and looked up at Ross, who, upon recognizing Joey for the first time, paled considerably.

"J-Joey," Ross stuttered, his eyes falling to Joey's leg.

"Are you _kidding me_ with this?" Rachel yelled, her eyes shooting between the men incredulously.

"Rachel never mentioned she was engaged," Joey said slowly.

"I'm not!  Ross—"

"Rach, we decided, remember?  But hey, if _you've moved on_, then there's nothing I can say," Ross held up his hands in mock-defeat, as he glared at Rachel.

"Ross, I thought you were _dead_!  What did you want me to do, wait around for you the way your sister is waiting around for—"Rachel stopped herself mid-sentence and shook her head.

"What?  Is Monica waiting…I thought she was married?" Ross asked.

"No, she isn't…look Ross, I—I really am happy that you are alive…but I am with Joey now, and—"

"It…it isn't _serious_, is it?" Ross asked incredulously.

"Yes, it is, Ross!  Why are you acting like this?"

"Because I love you!  And I just…I thought you'd wait for me," Ross looked to the ground, and scuffed his shoe on the tiled floor angrily.

"Ross—"

"No, it's fine," Ross sighed, "I've gotta go," he turned and walked out of the coffee shop quickly.

"Ross!" Rachel called, but to no avail.  She sighed and took a shaky breath, her nerves frazzled.  She turned around to talk to Joey, but found that he was gone.  When had he left?  And how had she not noticed?  She sat down in her chair heavily, tears welling up in her eyes, as she watched the crowds swarm by, unaware of the pain that filled her heart.

"Come on, Chandler, where else are you gonna go?"

Chandler sighed, and looked down at his feet.  He and Claire were standing on her front porch, debating over whether or not he should join the Christmas party happening inside.

"I don't want to intrude…this is a family thing," Chandler argued.

"Oh give me a break!  You know that you are practically family!  My mother will be _very_ disappointed if you don't at least make an appearance."

"Fine," Chandler relented, "but there'd better be booze in that egg nog."  
Claire smiled broadly and led Chandler into the house, where small groups of total strangers were huddled, talking animatedly about their lives.  The house was warm and dimly lit, and smelled like mulled wine.  In the background was the faint sounds of cheesy holiday music, often muffled my roaring laughter emanating from one of the various groups.  

Chandler pasted on a fake smile, and kept close to Claire, who was expertly weaving her way through the crowds and toward the kitchen.  They had almost made it to the kitchen, but were stopped in their tracks by Claire's maternal grandmother.

"Claire, sweetheart!  Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Grandma!" Claire smiled, and kissed her grandmother quickly.

"And this must be John!  Oh my, he is _much_ more handsome in person!"

"Um, no…Grandma, this isn't John.  This is _Chandler_.  He's a friend of mine."

"Oh…well, you have so many boyfriends I just can't keep them apart!" Claire's grandmother laughed, and Claire reddened.  Her grandmother wandered away, leaving Claire and Chandler in an uncomfortable silence.

"You okay?" Chandler put a reassuring hand on Claire's shoulder and she started slightly, before looking up at him.

"Y-yeah…let's get some egg nog, huh?"

Chandler nodded and the duo headed into the kitchen.  Claire filled two glasses with the foamy white drink, then handed Chandler a glass, before leading him to a small stoop at the base of the main stairwell.  They took a seat on the step, and silently observed the crowd for several moments.

"Do you guys always have big parties like this?" Chandler asked quietly.

"We used to.  I think my mom is trying to make everyone forget about all this…stuff, ya know?"

"Yeah," Chandler sighed, and sipped his drink slowly, "My parents used to have parties like this…before…before everything started going bad."

"Bad?" Claire looked at Chandler quizzically.

"My dad started cheating on my mom…and she started drinking.  And it all went bad," Chandler explained grimly.

"Oh.  I-I'm sorry."

"So you might say that it's ironic that I am so upset about losing them—I mean, they weren't exactly stellar parents."

"But they were still your parents," Claire noted.

"Yeah, I know.  And they really are all I have.  I wish—"Chandler stopped and shook his head.

"What?" Claire laid her hand on Chandler's arm, urging him to continue.

"I wish I could change things…change the things I said to my dad before I left…told my mom how much I love her.  I wish I…I wish things were different," he muttered.

"Me too," Claire smiled sadly, and placed her head on Chandler's shoulder.  

They sat silently for several moments, until Carolyn walked by.

"Hey you two, why so glum?  It's Christmas!"

Claire looked up at her mother and smiled.

"Sorry Mom, we were just…thinking about the past."

"Well you should be focusing on the future…speaking of which…you two are right under my _strategically placed_ mistletoe!" Carolyn grinned, and wandered away.

Claire and Chandler both looked up to find a mess of green leaves staring down at them.  The looked at each other, blushed, and turned away.

"My mom has clearly been dipping into that egg nog," Claire laughed uncomfortably.

"Yeah," Chandler laughed and studied his hands.

The sat in silence for a second more, before scrambling off of the step and rushing back into the kitchen.

"More egg nog?" Claire said quickly.

"Sure," Chandler shoved his glass forward stiffly, and smiled.

Claire filled the glasses, and both downed the drink quickly, then looked at each other awkwardly.  Chandler broke into a grin, and seconds later, both began to giggle.

"I think we are taking this party way too seriously," Clare laughed.

"I agree," Chandler nodded, and stepped toward Claire, "I need more 'nog."

Claire nodded, and grabbed Chandler's glass, her fingers lightly brushing his.  She felt her face heat up again, but stayed rooted to her spot.

Chandler let out a breath, and Claire felt it on her cheek.  She looked up at Chandler, her eyes wide with fear and anticipation.

Their eyes locked, and the world around them seemed to blur, then spin.  Chandler swallowed hard as Claire leaded toward him, and suddenly, he could hear his heart inside his head.  The thumping drowned out everything around him, and all he could do was close his eyes.

The kiss was hesitant, at first, but progressively became more passionate.  The glass Claire was holding slipped from her fingers, and went crashing to the ground, sending a burst of glass across the floor unnoticed.  Two entwined bodies fell lifelessly against the back wall, arms and legs and lips becoming one.

A fog of unreality surrounded them—passion felt for another explored in that first kiss.

Then, as though time had started up again, the sounds of the party came rushing back to their ears, the cold surface they were pressed to felt.  They pulled away, and stared at each other, their eyes wide and wet with tears.

"Claire, I—"

She put her hand on his lips, and shushed him.

"I know," she whispered, "me too."

He nodded silently, and kissed her once more.

She straightened her dress nervously, before knocking on the front door.  She felt her breathing increase, as heavy footsteps neared, and she took a deep breath, trying to calm her jagged nerves.

The door swung open, and Ross looked down at her, his face showing an odd combination of surprise and guilt.

"R-Rachel, hi," Ross stammered, "Um, what are you doing here?"

"I…I think we need to talk, Ross," Rachel said softly, and let herself into the house.

"Rach, I don't know if now is a good time," Ross said quickly, as he followed her into the living room.

Rachel stopped when she saw that Jack and Judy Geller were seated in the living room, with two men she didn't recognize.  The first man was wearing a uniform similar to the one Ross wore the day he left for Vietnam—the second man was wearing a plain black suit.

"Rachel?" Jack stood up, "I didn't know you were back…where's—"

"Rachel, dear, these men are from the US Government," Judy interrupted.

"Hello," Rachel smiled politely, "I didn't know you had company.  I-I'll come back another time."  Rachel turned to leave.

"No, it's alright, Miss, this won't take long."

Rachel looked at Ross, and noted that he looked anxious for her to leave.  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she turned around and walked fully into the room.

She heard Ross take a nervous breath.

"So, as we were saying Private Geller, your wife's death has left us with something of a quandary.  All of the paperwork we have says that the boy they found with your wife is yours.  We'll need to perform some tests to be certain, but even if you are the father, it is going to be difficult for an unmarried veteran with no job to adopt the boy."

Rachel's eyes widened, as she listened to the Suit-clad Man speak.  Ross was married?  And he has a son?  What the hell was going on?

The two men stood up, and Rachel felt a wave of nausea course through her.

"We'll be in touch, Private, but in the meantime, you'll need to go down to this military clinic," the Uniformed Man handed Ross a small white card," to have your blood test done."  

Ross nodded silently, and watched as Jack and Judy escorted the men to the front door.  He looked down at the card, in a vain attempt to avoid Rachel's glare.

"You're _married_?" Rachel asked calmly, evenly.

"Rach, I'm sorry…I was just trying to get her out of the country, and—"

"You have a son!" Rachel said, her voice rising.

"Look, I know that you are mad, but Rach, I really need your help!  I know this sounds crazy, but you heard those guys!  If I'm not married, I won't get to keep my son!"

"Ross, that is just ridiculous, I—" Rachel stopped, her jaw dropped incredulously, "Noooooo!  I am NOT marrying you, Ross!"

"Rach, it'll just be for a while—just until I get my son!  Please Rach!"

"Ross!  Don't be absurd!" Rachel cried, as Jack and Judy re-entered the living room, "I wouldn't marry you if…if _you were the last man on Earth_!" Rachel screamed, and stormed out of the house.

Jack and Judy stared at their son for a long moment, before Jack finally spoke.

"Geez, son, you really have a way with the women, don't you?"

_AN: I was reading over this first part again, and I realized that you all may assume that when I say 'coffeeshop' here, I am talking about Central Perk.  I'm not.  The characters are in Rockefeller Center, which is nowhere near the Central Park, and is thus, nowhere near Central Perk.  Just wanted to clear that up, LOL._


	26. Chapter Twenty Five: You Belong To Me

AN: Thank you, again for your feedback!  One note; I have absolutely no idea what all of the crazy adoption laws are, and really, I made up all of that crap with Ross' son so that I could play out my intended storyline.  Let's call it creative license, eh?

Also, I'm gonna stop posting Story Summaries, unless you all really want them.  My original intentions for the summary were to give historical information, and to refresh people's memories, since it takes me eighteen million years to update this stupid story.  Let me know either way.

_The Age of Aquarius_

_Chapter Twenty-Five: You Belong to Me_

One Week Later

Phoebe shuffled down the steps of the police station, her meager belongings stuffed under her arm, her gait shaky and hesitant.

She shivered, as the winter wind bit through her threadbare sweater sharply.

She'd only spent a month in jail for her crimes, but she'd also been charged a hefty fine, and as a result, had few possessions she could call her own.

Her first intention had been to go to Monica's, but as she stood in front of the apartment building, she felt her nerve seep out of her.

She'd never gone back after her blow out with Monica and the others, and now so much time had passed, she wasn't sure she'd be able to.

Would they forgive her for her sins?  For the way she'd stormed out of their lives?

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she turned and walked down the street, and into a small bar on the corner.

The bar was musty, dark, and empty, save for a heavy set bartender, who barely looked up as Phoebe walked in.  In the corner, sat a beat up baby grand piano.  A young man was sat at the piano, playing a tune Phoebe only vaguely recognized.

"What can I get'cha?" the bartender asked gruffly, as he set down the pint glass he had been drying.

"Rum and Coke," Phoebe muttered, and the bartender nodded and set about making the drink.  Phoebe pulled a few crumpled notes from her pocket, and put them on the bar, before sitting on a ratty red barstool.

The bartender set the drink in front of her, and took the money off of the bar with a nod.  Phoebe looked down at her drink, her eyes welling up with tears.

"Well, is my playing really that bad?" a friendly voice came from behind her, and Phoebe started and turned.

The dark-haired piano player was standing before her, a wide grin on his face.

"Huh?" Phoebe asked, then sniffled audibly.

"You were crying…I thought maybe you hated my playing," the man winked, then took a seat on a barstool next to her.

"Oh…no…I'm just…"

"All alone in the big crowded city?" the man smiled sympathetically.

"You could say that," Phoebe mumbled, and looked down into her drink.

"My name's Mike," the man extended his hand, and Phoebe took it hesitantly.

"Phoebe," she said quietly.

"Phoebe, it's nice to meet you…and look at that…now you have a friend!"

Phoebe laughed, and shook her head; Mike smiled.

"You're laughing, and I'm not even singing…that's a good sign for both of us."

"So, Mike…"Phoebe started, then shook her head.

"What?" Mike cocked his head to the side.

"No…nothing…I was going to ask you what you do for a living but…"Phoebe gestured toward the piano.

Mike looked over his shoulder, then back at Phoebe.

"Oh…yeah, this is just a part-time, kinda thing…I'm a law student."

"Oh," Phoebe mumbled, and tensed slightly.

"So you like piano players, but not lawyers, huh?" Mike laughed.

"No…I mean…it's just—" Phoebe shook her head, her eyes tearing up again.

"Oh, no, please don't cry…I was just kidding," Mike handed Phoebe a napkin, and she smiled gratefully.

She sighed shakily, and looked up at Mike, who was still eyeing her curiously.

"The thing is, Mike…you seem like a nice guy, but…I'm not exactly the type of girl that a law student should be…even talking to, ya know?" Phoebe shrugged.

"Well, I've been talking to ya for about ten minutes, and other than me making you cry, I think it's going pretty darn well."

"You…you don't want a girl like me," Phoebe said sadly.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that," Mike smiled, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"So that's it," Phoebe sighed, suddenly exhausted from telling Mike Her Story.

"That's it?  I've heard much worse," Mike sighed.

"Of course you have, you're a law student," Phoebe laughed.

"Oh, look at that, got ya laughing again," Mike grinned.

Phoebe shook her head, and sighed.

"Well, you told me your story, and I'm still here.  What do you think that means?"

"It means you're either crazy, or really desperate," Phoebe laughed.

"A careful blend of both, thank you very much," Mike said proudly, "I think we just may be the perfect couple."

Phoebe nodded, amazed at how easy it was to talk to a man she'd met only an hour ago.  She knew that it would probably never work—that she should cut her losses and just walk out of the bar, and away from Mike.

But something was keeping her rooted to her seat.  Something kept her from following her head…something was telling her that this man…could make everything right again.

*

Ross stood outside of the apartment door for several uneasy minutes, shifting from foot to foot, his head throbbing and his heart racing.  It had been a week since he had last seen Rachel, and he knew that he needed to resolve things with her soon.  No matter what ended up happening with them, he knew that he couldn't imagine not having her in his life.  

He moved to knock again, but couldn't seem to get his hand to connect to the door.  He sighed in frustration, and turned away, just as the door swung open.

"Can I help you?"

Ross turned, and smiled uncomfortably.

"Hey Mon."

"Ross?  Oh my God!  What are you…I mean…I thought you—" Monica stammered, her eyes wide and glassy.

"I…I thought Rachel would have told you…I saw her last week and—"

"Last week?  I can't believe she didn't tell me," Monica looked deflated, but quickly shook it off and ushered Ross into the apartment.

"Where have you been?  How long have you been back?"

"I…for a while, I guess.  Mom and Dad told me you were in California."

"I was…for a while.  After Mom and Dad kicked me out—"

"Wait, they _kicked you out_?  Why?" Ross furrowed his brow.

"I…"Monica looked down, her cheeks flushed.  She sighed, and when she looked up at Ross again, tears lined her eyes.

"I was pregnant," she said quietly.

"Oh," Ross said, and looked around the apartment.  It was then that he noticed the toys, and games, and coloring books scattered throughout the apartment.  He was mildly surprised that his sister had allowed her apartment to get so messy.

"I had the baby in California.  His name is Jakob…Jake.  He's…sleeping right now."

"Jakob," Ross' mind raced.  He looked up at Monica, wide-eyed.

"Mon…do you know who the father is?  I mean—"

"Of course I do…I…there's never been anyone else," Monica muttered and walked away from Ross, and toward the living room window.

"The thing is," she continued quietly, "I don't think I'll ever see him again.  I've decided that I need to move on.  He was sent to Vietnam, and a while back he was declared missing.  Everyone kept telling me I needed to move on, but I just wasn't ready to give up.  But time wore on, and I began to realize…he may never come home."

Ross watched his sister silently, all the while wondering if he should tell her what he knew about Chandler—because he knew, without ever asking, that Chandler was the one she was talking about.  

"Monica…Chandler…came looking for you."

Monica whipped around to face her brother, her eyes ablaze.

"You've met him?  When?  Where is he?" Monica asked desperately.

"I met him in Vietnam," Ross explained, "He…saved my life."

"Where is he?" Monica asked again, her voice soft, her eyes anxious.

"I…I don't know.  Mom and Dad told him you were married…that you had a family and that you were in California.  I showed him your postcard—the one you sent Mom and Dad—and I…I told him I thought you were married.  He looked hurt, but he didn't say much else.  He never told me where he was going."

Ross looked over at Monica, and saw that she was crying.  He pulled her into a hug, and rocked her slightly.

"Mon…I am so sorry.  I didn't know."

"No…I know," Monica whispered, and pulled away from Ross.  She smiled, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, "I just…I can't believe he's alive!"

Ross laughed and nodded.

"Maybe he's at his parent's old house?" he suggested.

"I don't know…his father moved away some time ago," Monica shook her head, "but it's definitely a good place to start."

"Hey Mon," Rachel said, as she walked through the front door.  She stopped, her eyes narrowing as they fell onto Ross.

"I should…I'll be in my room," Monica said softly, and retreated to her room quickly.

"Ross, what the hell are you doing here?" Rachel said coldly.

"I can't visit my own sister?" Ross asked.

"I…suppose…but she's not here now, so—"

"Rach, please, just let me talk to you," Ross pleaded, his eyes watering.

"I—" Rachel shook her head, and felt tears spring up in her own eyes.

"Rach, I know that you're mad…but I just…I need to explain.  Vietnam was…it was a different world.  I know that sounds strange, but you have to understand…I was so alone there…I had seen so many friends killed…so much suffering.  I really started to believe that I would never leave that place alive," Ross paused and looked up at Rachel slowly.  Her expression had softened, and she seemed genuinely interested in what he was telling her, so he continued.

"I never loved her…I…I honestly can't remember having any feelings at all.  She was there…when I had completely given up, and I guess…I guess I thought that if I could save her, somehow, I could save myself as well."

"Ross—"

"I know you hate me for what I've done…and I know you've moved on.  But…I'm afraid I'll never see my son…I…I just need a friend."

Rachel wiped a glassy tear from her eye, and approached Ross quickly, before pulling him into a tight embrace.

"I'll do what I can, Ross…but," Rachel pulled away from Ross and looked up at him, "I do love Joey.  I'm sorry."

Ross nodded silently, and pulled Rachel toward him again.

"Thank you," he whispered.

*

Carolyn watched with a smile, as Chandler and Claire chatted quietly at the kitchen table.  It had been a long time since she'd seen her daughter smile, and it warmed her heart.

After John's funeral, Claire had closed off the world, and Carolyn had feared the worst.

Then Chandler had stumbled into their lives, and though Carolyn had been hesitant about Chandler at first, she soon realized that he and Claire needed one another, and she was happy that Claire was finally talking to someone.

A sharp knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.  Claire moved to stand, but Carolyn stopped her.

"It's okay, honey, I'll get it," Carolyn smiled, and Claire nodded and resumed her conversation with Chandler.

Carolyn walked to the door and unlocked and opened it slowly.  On the other side stood a petite, dark-haired, nervous looking woman.

"Can I help you?" Carolyn asked softly.

"I…I hope so.  My name is Monica Geller, and I'm looking for a friend of mine…Chandler Bing.  H-His family used to live here?"

Carolyn stood motionless, her head reeling.  This was the woman Chandler had told them about—the one he thought he'd lost.  Why was she here now?  Where was her husband?  Was she ever even married?  Did she want Chandler back?  A million thoughts raced through Carolyn's mind, as the woman looked up at her with hope-filled eyes.

Then Claire's lilting laugh danced through the house, and touched her heart.

"I-I'm sorry Monica, I wish I could help but…we've never seen him."

AN:  I am really, really sorry about the delay.  This is still not what I wanted it to be, but at this point, I just want this thing finished!!

Let me know what you think!


	27. Chapter Twenty Six: Echoes of the Past, ...

AN: Okay, I'm gonna try to move this story along, so I can finish it sometime before I die!

The next two chapters will be kind of short, because they are two parts that each need to stand alone.  This one is all Monica and Chandler, the next one will deal with Ross, Rachel and Joey.

_The Age of Aquarius_

_Chapter Twenty-Six: Echoes of the Past, Part I_

All her life, she had been prepared to accept whatever hand fate dealt her—to deal with disappointment, and to understand life's cruel twists.

At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

The truth was, she had grown up in a bubble, in a protective shell that led her to believe that her dreams were more than dreams…they were wishes that would someday come to fruition…if she were patient enough.

But as the years passed, she began to see the world for what it was…cruel, heartless, and blind to the wishes of a little girl who grew up too soon.

Through it all…through everything that she had seen and experienced over the past few years, Monica kept her faith in the one thing that felt true.  The one thing that felt pure.

Love

It had been nearly four years since the summer that changed her life, and it amazed her that the love she felt for Chandler had stayed so strong.

When she'd discovered that Chandler was alive…and possibly so close, her heart leapt—her hands were literally trembling with nervous anticipation.  A million thoughts raced through her head: Would he want to see her?  How much had he changed?  How much had she changed?  Would he be happy about Jake?  

Did he still love her, as well?

The closer she'd gotten to his parent's old place, the more certain she was that she would find him.

She was not prepared for such heartbreaking disappointment.

And as she walked away from the house that day, she felt a pain in her heart, which increased with every step she took.

It was the pain of knowing that he was so close, but so very far away;

It was the pain of wondering if she would ever see him again;

It was the pain of thinking that he thought she'd moved on—and that he was hurting too.

She would give up her soul, to see him one more time.

And knowing that she may not ever get that chance, knowing that the single tendril of hope she had left was slipping from her grasp, knowing that as the years wore on, they would grow farther apart; knowing that he could live, never knowing his son, and that their son could grow up without knowing his father.

That was what hurt, more than anything.

_She hovered in the comfortable state between dream and wake, her body not yet ready to give in to her mind.  _

_She let out a soft breath, and snuggled deeper into the warm confines of her bed, before reluctantly opening her eyes._

_Through the window, a spectacular sight: the warm, dusty pink glow of the very early morning, whispering across the room.  She turned her head, and saw him—his eyes sealed shut, his mouth slightly agape, and his tangled, golden brown hair half covering his face._

_She smiled, as euphoria overtook her.  She raised her arm, and slowly brushed the hair from his eyes._

_His nose crinkled, and he let out a short sigh._

_She smiled, and committed the moment to memory._

_Unbeknownst to her—it was a memory she would hold onto, when her world darkened around her._

_Moments later, his eyes fluttered open, and she was met with an endless sea of blue._

_"You're awake," he smiled._

_"So are you," she whispered in return._

_"You look like an angel," he sighed, "in the morning light."_

_She felt her stomach flutter, as he leaned forward, and brushed his lips against her own._

_It was then that she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there would never be another._

*

Six Months Later

He was in pain.

Horrible, horrible pain…as though someone…something were dragging razors through his soul.

He struggled to scream, but no sound emerged.  He tried to close his eyes, but all he could see was blood.

Blood.

He heard a scream…and knew it wasn't his own.  

More screams…but not his, no.

Children.  Hundreds of them.

And then…nothing.

Chandler sat up suddenly, his heart racing and his body and bed soaked with sweat.

He looked around, and saw that he was in his room…and he was alone.

He shivered, as the night air touched his sweat-soaked skin.

The dreams…were getting worse.

And now, the dreams were accompanied by flashbacks, of some sort, catching Chandler off guard at any time of day or night.

He was haunted by them…wanted them to stop…needed them to stop.

Claire had urged him to seek help…counseling, or a shrink.  He refused, and now she was at a loss over what to do.

He was sinking…into depression and into the dreams that had taken hold.

And he was leaving her behind.

She struggled to understand—she knew his memories were coming back—but the more she tried to help him, the more he pushed her away.

It had all started nearly four months earlier.  They were alone in the house, and in the throes of passion.

She wanted desperately to put the pain of loss behind her—to move forward toward the future.

He struggled with his inner demons, and with haunting echoes of the past.

She wanted to make love, and he could not.

That night, the nightmares that had disturbed him abroad, began again.

As the months wore on, Chandler became distant, irritable and cold.  Their passion cooled to a close friendship, and then, as Claire's tolerance grew increasingly thinner, that too cooled.

Which was why Chandler now found himself alone, in a darkened, rented room, shivering through night sweats, his heart and head weary.

He lay back down on his creaky bed, and pulled his thin blanket over him.

He needed help…desperately.  And he knew it.  He looked to the sky, and prayed that somehow, Claire would forgive him, and take him back.

Deep in his heart, he felt the question burning through him.

Was that what he really wanted?

Claire had been his salvation, taking him in when he had no one and nowhere to go.

The feelings he had for him confused him; they were fuzzy and complex.

He loved her, he knew he did, but he'd pushed her away when he needed her most.

Why was it so hard to let her in?

Deep down, he knew, but he would never admit it to himself…or anyone else.

The past was haunting him, in more ways than one.

He closed his eyes, ignored the slow ache that burned in his heart, and prayed that he would be able to get through the night.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven: Echoes of the Past...

AN: Thank you for all of your extensive feedback on this story.  I realize that some folks think that this story has been dragged on too long, but it is going to take me a few more chapters to write myself out of the whole I've dug here.  Please be patient!

One note—time wise, this chapter starts around the same time the last chapter started, and ends around the time the last chapter ended.  Confused?  Me too.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, I don't own any of the original show characters.  I know you were wondering.

_The Age of Aquarius_

_Chapter Twenty-Seven: Echoes of the Past, Part II_

She looked up at the clock again, and ran a nervous hand through her hair.

She'd never been so nervous…anxious…terrified, in all her life.

Somehow, some way, Ross had been able to convince her to marry him, so that he could get out of his sticky situation with the Vietnamese government and get his son back.

Now all she had to do was tell Joey.

The clock continued to tick, and she felt a wave of nausea course through her.  He wasn't going to understand—she already knew that.

He was still so fragile, and so insecure.  She didn't want to destroy what they had…to destroy him.

But she and Ross had a _history_…and she felt a connection with him that she did not have with anyone else.  She needed to ensure that he would be okay, whether she was with him or not.

She sighed, and began pacing the room, her nervous energy making her tremble and sweat.  She suddenly felt dizzy; so she leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes.

The apartment door opened slowly.  She kept her eyes closed, but she could hear the distinctive squeak of Joey's wheelchair.  Slowly, she opened her eyes, and forced herself to smile.

"Hey, Rach, what are you doing here?" Joey asked cheerfully, his eyes lighting up as he wheeled across the apartment.

"I, um…I wanted to talk to you," Rachel struggled to keep her voice steady and even, but a rebellious tear spilled from her eye and onto her cheek, shattering the façade.

"Wh-what's wrong?" Joey's voice was filled with concern, and Rachel felt a dagger of guilt course through her.  Why did he have to be so damned concerned about her well being?  Why did he have to be so sweet?

"It's about Ross," Rachel managed to sputter, her voice now shaky and small.

"What about him?" Joey's eyes narrowed slightly, and his voice took on a decidedly hostile tone.

"He…his son…is stuck in Vietnam.  R-Ross…he needs to be married in order to get him out…"

"Wow, that's…awful.  Who's he going to marry?" Joey asked, though the look in his eyes told Rachel that he already knew the answer.

"I made him swear that as soon as the adoption goes through, he and I were to get an annulment.  I have no intention of staying married to him, Joey, I swear," Rachel spoke quickly, trying to rattle off as much information as she could.

"W-well, why does he have to marry you?  What about…other people?" Joey asked, his anger rising.

"Joey, I'm his friend…and I'm just helping him out.  He has no one else."

"But he's in love with you," Joey said, tears forming in his eyes, "He loves you so much."

"But _I_ love _you_," Rachel whispered, and lowered herself into Joey's lap slowly.  She ran her hand down Joey's face, "I love you, and I will be back," she whispered.

Joey said nothing.  He took a shaky breath, then nodded slowly, before gently pushing Rachel off of his lap.

"I can't…see you, while you're married to him," he stated flatly, and turned away from Rachel.

"I swear to you…it won't be long…as soon as Ross has his son—"

"I know," Joey interrupted harshly, then wheeled into his bedroom, "call me when it's over," he said, then closed the door.

Rachel stood in the center of the living room, her head reeling.  Doubts were beginning to mount inside of her, and she suddenly felt completely isolated.  She wanted nothing more, than to make Joey understand—to make him see that she loved him, more than she'd loved anyone.

But then there was Ross, and all that she had been through with him.  The pain and longing she'd felt the day he'd left was still very much real for her—and though she'd managed her own closure with him when she'd heard he was dead, she knew that she would again need to find closure _with_ him, now that he was home again.  She knew that he still loved her, and it hurt her to know that he was in pain.

She loved Joey.

And Ross would have to accept that.  

*

Six Months Later

Ross laid his slumbering son down into his crib slowly, careful not to wake him.  He watched him for several minutes, his tiny hands curled into fists, his full red lips rounded and slightly parted, as he snored softly.

It amazed him how he could fall in love with someone in an instant—but he had.

As soon as they brought his son off of the plane, and set him in his arms, Ross knew that this little person would be his entire world.  

He'd named the baby Jonathan…simply because he felt that it suited him.

Ross ran his finger over Jonathan's cheek softly, then sighed contently, and made his way into the living room.

Rachel was leaned up against the living room window, staring out into the night sky.  The moonlight touched her face softly, giving her an ethereal glow that made her appear dreamlike.

And he supposed, in a way, that's what she was—a dream—just out of reach.

She had made it clear that she would only stay until all of the paperwork had gone through.  But Ross wasn't ready to let her go…to let her walk out of his life.

Having her here made everything in his life feel complete, and Ross was not prepared to give that up.

He wanted her to remember what they once were…he needed her to love _him_ again.

In his own mind, he felt justified in not telling Rachel the truth—that the paperwork had all gone through, and that Jonathan was officially his.

All he needed was a few more weeks…Rachel had to see…had to feel the love she'd held for him in the past.

She looked up at him, and he smiled warmly.

"How is he?" she asked.

"He's asleep," Ross nodded, and Rachel smiled.

"He's such a good baby…you're a very lucky daddy."

"Well, I don't think I would have gotten through all of this without you," Ross replied softly.

Rachel smiled, and approached Ross slowly.  Ross felt his heart begin to race.

"I think you'll be fine on your own," Rachel said, "and I will always be around to help, I swear."

"Thanks, Rach," Ross smiled, and pulled Rachel into an embrace.  He held her for a moment, more, until she pulled away slightly, to look up at him.

"I'm really proud of you, sweetie," Rachel whispered.

Ross nodded slightly, then leaned toward Rachel slowly.  When she didn't pull away, he leaned closer, his lips softly grazing hers.

The phone rang, jerking them from the moment.  Rachel pulled away, and picked up the phone.

"Hello?  Monica?  Wh-what happened?  What?  When?  Okay, we'll be right there."

Ross pushed his disappointment aside, and looked at Rachel, concerned.

"What is it?"

"It's Joey.  He took a bunch of pills," Rachel's voice was shaky and filled with grief, "They're at the hospital—we have to go."

Ross stood rooted to his spot, as Rachel rushed around the apartment, gathering her jacket, purse and keys.

"I—I should wait until Jonathan wakes up…you should go…I'll meet you there."

Rachel nodded wordlessly, her mind barely registering what Ross had said.  She rushed out the door, and Ross sunk to the sofa, his head spinning.

He could feel guilt creep into him, as he ran every scenario through his head—each of them, laced with the hope that Rachel would stay by his side.

The thoughts that consumed him made him sick, as he began to realize, that no matter what happened to Joey, he would have to tell Rachel the truth.

He would have to let her go.


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight: A Light in the Dar...

**AN: Thank you again for all of your feedback.  In case some of you missed it, I updated two chapters in two days (shocking, I know!) so make sure you've read both of those so you won't be asking yourself 'what the hell is going on?'  lol.  **

**If you need a refresher on Chandler's 'lost time', it all occurs in chapters 12-17.**

_The Age of Aquarius_

_Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Light in the Dark_

Summer, 1971

He sat in the far corner of the room, a gentle sigh escaping him.  Gazing out the window, he watched the warm summer breeze pick up scattered leaves and litter, and carry it down the nearly deserted street below.

It was hot; almost unbearably so.  The residents of New York had abandoned the overheated streets for the relief of air conditioned offices and houses.

The small community center was not air conditioned, but was instead cooled by a series of ceiling fans, lined up in a neat row across the top of the stark, dingy white room.

Chandler was vaguely aware of the rhythmic whoosh-whooshing of these fans, but seemed completely unaware of the fact that he was not alone in the room.

The memories of what had happened to him in those missing months had come back to him in a tidal wave of flashbacks and disjointed emotions.  Everything, from the villagers who had saved him from near-death, to the attack on the American soldiers...it was all there, in vivid, haunting detail.

And now that he knew, he'd give everything to go back to the sanctuary of ignorance.

"Chandler, would you like to join the group today?" a serene voice drifted into his consciousness.

Chandler blinked, and looked up at Theresa, who was, as always, smiling warmly.  Her large brown eyes looked down at him with kind neutrality, indicating to Chandler that he was under no pressure to participate in the weekly group sessions.

The group sessions were a way for war veterans to meet and share stories...it was a type of therapy, showing the men that they were not alone in their struggle to find themselves.  Chandler rarely participated in the sessions, but listened intently to the stories being told.  Subconsciously, he was waiting to hear a story similar to his own...deep down, he needed that validation-to know that there was someone else out there, struggling with his demons.

But who in their right mind would kill a child?

Nodding slowly, Chandler stood and followed Theresa across the room and toward the small circle of men.  Chandler recognized a few men immediately: Kevin Harding, a soldier who had spent several months in a Vietnamese prison; Bobby Shaw, a man who killed his commanding officer for raping a local Vietnamese woman during a routine mission; and Charlie Cummings, who so far, had told the group very little, but was wildly opposed to the war.  Chandler scanned the group slowly, and took in the new faces.  His eyes fell onto a man in a wheelchair, who looked eerily familiar.  The man had his head bowed, but Chandler was sure that he was...

"Okay, gentlemen, let's get started.  We have a few new men here today, so why don't we start with introductions-Bobby?" Theresa looked at Bobby with the same easy smile that made all of them about as comfortable as they were going to get in this room.  Bobby nodded and returned Theresa's smile.

"I'm Bobby Shaw, from Brooklyn."

"I'm Charlie Cummings, from Long Island."

"I'm Kevin Harding."

"Chandler Bing."

Immediately, Chandler felt a set of eyes on him.  He turned his head, to find Joey staring at him, his eyes filled with shock and...hate?

"Thank you gentlemen.  Why don't we have our new guests introduce themselves?"

.

Joey tore his eyes from Chandler, and looked at the therapist, unsure what the woman had said.  What were the odds that the hospital would put him here in this session, with _him_?  He shook his head, and looked at the therapist, who was now looking at him sharply.

"Mr. Tribbiani, would you care to introduce yourself, and tell us why you are here?"

Joey cleared his throat, then looked down at his hands.

"My name is Joseph Tribbiani, and.uh, I guess I'm here because my shrink said it would be a good idea."

"Why do you think that, Joseph?"

"Y-you can call me Joey...everyone calls me Joey."

"Alright...Joey.  Why are you here today?"

"I guess because...I tried to kill myself a couple months ago."

*

Two Months Earlier

"Monica?"

"Over here," Monica stood, as Rachel walked frantically into the room.

"Is he okay?  What happened?"

"I-I'm not sure.  Jake was actually the one who found him," Monica said grimly, as she looked back at her sleeping three-year old sadly.

"Oh, Mon," Rachel sighed, "Is Jake okay?"

"Yeah, he just thought Joey was sleeping, I think," Monica said, tears filling her eyes, "I-is Ross coming?"

"Later, probably.  Jonathan was sleeping.  I need to see Joey, Mon-you haven't heard anything?"

"Not since they brought him in-but Rach...he was...upset, you know?  I mean, I don't think..."

"Mon, I have to make this right.  I love him...and I know that all of this stuff with Ross took longer than expected, but I...I guess I just hoped that he would understand."

*

He was drifting, in total darkness.  He felt like he was floating on water, yet there was total silence.  For just a moment, there was total and complete bliss, and he wanted nothing more than to be swallowed up into it, and let it consume him completely.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished, and he found himself being pulled upward.  He closed his eyes, and felt the wind whipping through his hair as he was pushed and pulled up and up, the darkness falling away from him, and the light, once only a tiny star in the distance, now engulfing him.

His mind picked up a distant beeping, and a rhythmic hushing.  Slowly, he opened his eyes, and saw that he was neither surrounded by darkness, nor light.

He was in a bed...in a hospital.

He tried to sit up, but his head was heavy, and his body felt incredibly weak.  He groaned softly, as he lay back on the bed heavily.

Suddenly, and angel appeared.

He heard her gasp softly, and suddenly, she was standing over him, her eyes filled with tears and a smile lining her beautiful face.

"Joey," she said, her voice like a song.  He struggled to speak, but no words came out.  He moved his hand to his face, only to discover that a large plastic device covering his mouth.

The respirator hushed, and Joey looked up at his angel.

"I'll be right back," she whispered, and suddenly, she was gone.

He closed his eyes, his mind in a haze.  In the state between consciousness and dreams, one name danced through his mind.

Rachel.

*

Theresa smiled warmly, and quietly thanked Joey for sharing His Story.  She looked over at Chandler, and noted that he had a strange look on his face.  The daggers Joey had shot Chandler earlier in the session had not gone unnoticed by Theresa, and she was eager to find out what kind of history the two men shared.  As the session wound to a close, she asked both Joey and Chandler to stay behind.

"It seems quite clear to me that you two know each other," Theresa stated matter-of-factly.  Both Joey and Chandler shot her surprised looks, but refused to look at one another.

"I'd like to see the two of you tomorrow, if you have time," Theresa continued.

Joey shrugged nonchalantly, and Chandler, simply nodded.

"I have to go," Joey said softly, after a long silence had passed.

"Joey, I-" Chandler started, but stopped when Joey looked up at him angrily.

"I said I have to go," he snapped, and wheeled toward the door.

Chandler sat back, dumbfounded.  After all that had happened between them, Chandler could not figure out why Joey wanted nothing to do with him.

Suddenly, it hit him-Joey must have found out about what he'd done.

He looked toward the doorway, but Joey was already out of sight.

"Chandler, are you okay?" Theresa asked, noting the panicked look on his face.

Chandler looked at Theresa, and nodded silently, his eyes revealing that he was anything but.

He looked at the doorway again, and this time, was surprised to see a familiar figure standing there, looking back at him.

He stood, and made his way toward the door, his heart racing.  What do you say to someone you haven't seen in so long?  Biting his lip, he stopped just short of reaching the doorway, his nerves getting the better of him.

Then he watched, as she closed the gap between them, her own smile revealing her nervousness.

"Hi Chandler," she said softly, and he relaxed slightly.

"Claire, it's...great to see you," Chandler smiled.

"How...have you been?"

"Horrible," Chandler shrugged, and Claire laughed slightly.

"Do you wanna go for a walk?  Talk about it?"

Chandler nodded, and followed Claire out of the room and out of the Center.

"Ugh, it's still so hot out," Chandler sighed, as they hit a wall of heat on their way out.

"Yeah, it's disgusting," Claire replied.  They walked down the street in silence for a moment.

"My mom said you called...is everything okay?"

"Yeah...well, I mean...I guess I called when I started really remembering everything," Chandler sighed.

"You remember _everything_?" Claire asked, surprised, and Chandler nodded.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

"Really bad," Chandler said quietly, as they made their way toward Central Park.

"What happened?"

"I...I can't really tell you...not yet," Chandler sighed.  Another long silence followed.

"I saw Joey today."

"Your friend Joey?  He's alive?"

"Yeah, and he's...he's angry with me, for something," Chandler explained sadly.

"Why?"

"I don't know," Chandler shrugged, "but I think he may have found out what I did...in Vietnam," Chandler shuddered slightly, and Claire stopped him as they passed a bench on the edge of the Park.  They sat down, and Claire turned to face Chandler.

"Chandler, I know that...things have been weird over the last several months...but I am still your friend, and I want to help you."

Chandler nodded, and looked at Claire, and she was surprised to see the strange emptiness in his eyes.  Gone was the man that she had met when he had returned home all those months ago.  The man before her seemed vacant and emotionless-depressed, but not aware of it.  She struggled to see past the façade, into the heart of the man that she knew still existed, but the wall he'd built up in the weeks before they had split was thicker than ever.

"I killed a child."

He said it so matter-of-factly, and so flatly, that at first, she was certain he was setting her up for a joke.  But she looked up at him, and saw that he was frowning.

"Chandler-"

"He was strapped to a bomb, and he was trying to blow up the village.  So I shot him."

"You did the right thing...protecting the village-"

"He was a child," Chandler whispered, and looked past Claire, into nothing, "And I think maybe Joey knows.  Why else would he hate me so much?"

Claire sat in front of him, speechless.  She now understood why he was so empty, so...sad.  She wanted nothing more than to hold him, and love him, and tell him that everything was going to be okay.  But as she looked up at him, she realized that that was not what he wanted, not what he needed.

At least, not from her.

Several weeks after Chandler had left, Carolyn had inadvertently confessed to Claire that Monica had come looking for him.  Claire had been furious, but had no way to contact Chandler, until he had called, a few days earlier.  Claire debated over whether to tell Chandler what she knew, but now, sitting here with him in this state, she wondered if telling him would do him more harm than good.

He sighed heavily, and, still at a loss over what to do next, Claire took Chandler's hand in his, and waited for a sign.

*

"Joey?  Are you home?" Rachel walked into Joey's apartment slowly.

"Yeah," a defeated sigh came from Joey's bedroom.

Rachel walked into Joey's room, to find him lying on his bed, a thin throw wrapped around him.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked, as she sat down on the bed, and combed her fingers through his hair.

"I was...thinking about _The Incident_," Joey said flatly.

"Oh," Rachel nodded, knowing immediately that Joey was referring to his suicide attempt, "Why were you thinking about that?"

"They made me talk about it, in the session today," Joey sighed.

"Oh, today was your first group session...how was it?"

"Okay...I have to go back tomorrow," Joey said.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, that's okay," Joey sighed, "How's Ross?"

"He's okay.  He asked me if I'd watch Jonathan tomorrow, and I told him I wanted to spend time with you...but if you have another session, maybe I will...if that's okay," Rachel smiled.

"Of course it is," Joey smiled, and kissed Rachel softly, "I know how much you miss that little guy."

"Yeah...he is a cutie," Rachel said distantly.

"Do you ever regret...you know...ending things with Ross?" Joey asked quietly.

Rachel looked down at Joey, and for a split second, he saw his angel, sitting over him again.

"I wish it hadn't happened the way it had...I know that Ross is hurting...but I don't regret being with you, Joey," Rachel whispered, as she lay down next to him slowly.

*

Seven Weeks Earlier

Ross looked up as Rachel raced into the waiting room, a large smile lighting up her face.

"He's awake!" she cried, and pulled Monica into a hug.

"Is he okay?" Monica asked, and Rachel nodded.

"They're just checking him out now," she replied happily.

Ross looked down at his hands, sighed.  He had to tell her...it was now or never.

"Hey, Rach?  Now that, um, everything is okay...can we talk?"

Rachel looked over at Ross and nodded.  She sat down in the seat next to him, and watched as he cleared his throat and fidgeted nervously for several minutes.

"Ross, what is it?" Rachel asked impatiently.

"I...just wanted to tell you that everything is finalized with Jonathan...so if you still wanted to get that annulment..."

"It's done?" Rachel said excitedly, "Oh Ross, that's so great!  When did you find out?"

"Um...this morning.  So, I guess I'll get those annulment papers together, then?" Ross looked up at Rachel, his eyes filled with hope.

"Oh, that would be great...thanks so much Ross!" Rachel kissed Ross on the cheek and bounced off the chair and out of the waiting room.

Ross watched her go, his eyes filled with longing and shock.

She didn't want him-she'd made that _abundantly_ clear.

Sighing heavily, he fought back tears, and shuffled out of the waiting room.


	30. Chapter TwentyNine: I Saw Her Standing T...

**AN: Thank you all, again for the reviews.  I know that there are a lot of people who want Ross and Rachel together, but I had the Joey story laid out in my head already, and that was how it flowed…For all you Mondlers who are wondering when Monica and Chandler are gonna see each other…read on!**

**This one's for Chris! *Hugs***

**.**

_The Age of Aquarius_

_Chapter Twenty-Nine: I Saw Her Standing There_

_Well, my heart went boom,_

_When I crossed that room,_

_And I held her hand in mine…_

_Whoa, we danced through the night,_

_And we held each other tight,_

_And before too long I fell in love with her._

_Now I'll never dance with another (ooh)_

_Since I saw her standing there…_

_._

Winter, 1972

.

"Sir?  More coffee?"

Chandler looked up at the waitress blankly, his mind slowly processing the question.  After a short minute he nodded, and as the waitress refilled his cup with the steaming, bitter beverage, he continued to stare listlessly out the window, oblivious to the world around him.

Outside the shop, he watched a group of teenagers wander across the parking lot of the diner.  One boy, tall and lanky, with dingy brown hair hanging in his face, and an easy laugh escaping his lips, reminded Chandler a bit of himself, once upon a time.  He joked with his buddy, a shorter, stockier boy, while one arm hung loosely around the shoulders of a pretty, dark haired girl.  The kids walked into the diner, their laughter echoing through the near-empty restaurant, as they took a seat at a booth several feet from Chandler.

It seemed like ages ago, the years before the war.  He had no idea what had happened to Phoebe or Monica or Joey…coming back to nothing and no one, it was sometimes harder than being alone in the jungles of Vietnam.

At least there, he knew that he had a purpose, a goal.  Here, he had nothing at all.  

Joey had never turned up again that day after Chandler had seen first him.  Chandler often wondered what had become of him.  Had he tried to kill himself again?  Was he somewhere else in the city?  The look Joey had given him that day haunted him, and still he wondered just what it was he had done wrong.

The dark haired girl giggled, and Chandler looked over at the group wearily.

He missed her.

As much as he tried to deny it, to himself, to Claire, to the world…the truth of the matter was, he missed Her.

He'd never believed in soul mates, in true love or fate, but Monica had gotten under his skin, had become a part of him, and though he hadn't seen her in years, she haunted him.

She had moved on, had started a new life, and was thousands of miles away, and still, there were times, when he would swear he'd see her, walking down the street, a friend in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

Maybe it wasn't _her_ he really longed for; maybe she simply represented the carefree youth he had lost.  Maybe he just needed a friend, someone who _knew him when_, to remind him that he used to be a _person_.  Happy.  Normal.

Sighing heavily, he pulled a few crumpled bills from him pocket, and placed them on the table, before scooting out of his small booth, and walking out the door.

But not before he stole one last glance at the kids across the room.

.

The winter wind bit through his thin green jacket fiercely, causing him to involuntarily shiver.  The bright lights, rough pavement, and animated streets were foreign to him, even though he'd grown up in it.  Five years had changed him more than he wanted to admit—more than it should have.  He was 23, going on 45, and he felt the weight of the world on his tired shoulders.  No 23-year old should ever have to see what he has seen: to know what he knows.  No man should have to stand in the face of danger, and know that it is either 'them' or you.

No man should have to live with the blood of a child on his hands.

Snow began to drift down from the black sky.  He felt the light-as-a-feather flakes, and recalled a time when he'd prayed for anything besides Asian rain.  After years in the hostile jungles of a country thousands of miles from home-from a reality he had built for himself, if only to keep sane---being back in New York City felt wrong, somehow.  He looked up at the sky, as a thousand tiny flakes danced through the air, and slid down his ragged face.

Life, as he knew it, was about to change once more.

.

*

.

"I don't know about this, Rach," Ross fidgeted with his tie nervously, "What if she freaks out about Jonathan?"

"Ross, would you calm down?  Becca is a perfectly nice person, and she is new in New York, and needs to meet more people.  I think you two will really hit it off—but you have _got_ to relax!"

"I'm sorry Rach, but I've only ever dated…well…you, actually," Ross laughed.

Rachel smiled sympathetically, and approached Ross, straightening his tie with an arched eyebrow.

"Ross, I know that things have been…weird, since last spring, but—"

"Rach, it's okay," Ross took Rachel's hands, and squeezed them reassuringly, "It took me a while, but I have come to realize that neither of us are the same people we were before this…war.  If I had stayed, maybe we'd be married by now…or maybe not.  I'll always love you, you know that…and I know he makes you happy."

"He does," Rachel smiled, tears welling up in her eyes, "thank you, sweetie."

"Are you sure you are okay with Jonathan?"

"Ross, come on, you know it will be fine.  I'm gonna take him to Monica's…you know how Jonathan just _fascinates_ Jake," Rachel laughed.

"Right," Ross shook his head, "just don't let him stick anything up my son's nose this time, okay?"

Rachel laughed, as she gathered Jonathan's bags.  She picked up the sleeping toddler, and made her way to the door.

"Good luck tonight, Geller," Rachel smiled.

"None needed, Green," Ross retorted, as Rachel walked out the door.

Ross watched Rachel and Jonathan leave, then slumped onto the sofa.  He put on the brave face whenever she was around, but the truth was, her rejections still stung.

Had the situation been different…had Joey not been wheelchair-bound (and technically Joey was in the chair because of _him_) and had he not had the brush with death, Ross would have put up a fight—he would have fought harder to keep Rachel in his life.

But the thing was, Joey _needed_ Rachel in ways that Ross really didn't. 

And Rachel _loved_ Joey in a way that she no longer loved him.

In time, Ross knew he would no longer have to pretend to be okay with everything.  In time, he knew that he would be able to move on.

Ironic, seeing how it was time, that had torn he and Rachel apart.

.

*

.

Light flurries of snow soon began increasing, indicating that a larger storm was looming.  Monica scanned the darkened sky warily, as she exited the small shop and made her way toward home.  She'd left Rachel alone with the kids for well over an hour, and was certain that the apartment—and Rachel—would be in complete disarray by now.  Shaking her head at the notion, she wrapped her arms around herself and picked up her pace, hoping to make it home before the storm really hit.

In the distance, a shadowed figure, hunched and shivering, made its way toward her.  Instinctively, she moved to the opposite side of the sidewalk, and kept one wary eye on the shaded man.

His head tilted upward, toward the sky, and in the faint, yellowed light of the streetlamps above, Monica saw a familiar face.

As he moved past her, she took a sharp breath, her mind reeling.  Her legs suddenly felt heavy, and she found that she could no longer move, no longer think.  So she did the only thing she could think of to stop him from walking away…and out of her life again.

"Chandler!"

He stopped and turned slowly, his eyes narrowing to protect them from the wind and snow.  His arms, once wrapped around him protectively, dropped to his sides, and the newspaper he had been carrying fell lifelessly from his fingers.

Snow fluttered around them—two frozen figures trapped in time, lost…and found.

She took a hesitant step toward him, still wondering if he was nothing more than an illusion.

He stood, frozen in place, not willing to take the chance that he was dreaming.

Monica had imagined this moment a million times, in a million different scenarios.  She had dreamed of all the things she wanted to say, all of the things that had been left unsaid all of those years ago.  Her heart was bursting, and she wanted nothing more than to cry out _"I've found you!  Thank God I've finally found you!"_

But as she stood there, she suddenly realized that her voice had escaped her, and that this moment was more beautiful than any she had imagined.

She swallowed, in an attempt to wet her dry throat.  Still, he refused to move, so she took another step toward him, and looked up at his face.

"Chandler?" was all she could manage.

Her voice was like a catalyst, bringing him out of his dream-like trance.  He looked down at her, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes wide with shock.

"You're really here," she whispered, and reached up to touch his face.

He closed his eyes, and wavered slightly, as a large gust of wind blew through.

"It's really you," she whispered hoarsely, and he opened his eyes to look down at her.

"Monica," he croaked, as though he still could not believe his own eyes.

She ran her hand across his cheek—it was rougher than she remembered…scars from his time away.  She stared into his eyes, and saw something that was never there before—grief and sadness that seemed to weigh him down.

"You…aren't in California?" he asked suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts.

"What?"

"Ross said you…well, he said you were in California…"

"I was…I left…we left."

"Oh," Chandler nodded, his face suddenly unreadable.  He took a short step backward, and Monica's hand fell away from him.

"I should probably…let you go," Chandler said softly, his expression hardening.

Monica looked at Chandler, her heart racing.  He swallowed hard, and she let out a small sigh.

"Come on," she said softly, and tentatively took his hand in hers.  She led him toward the warm sanctuary of her apartment, her heart thumping rapidly in her chest, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

The walked in silence, the two blocks to her apartment building.  She led him up to her floor, but as she moved to open her door, he placed a nervous hand on her shoulder.  She turned to look at him, and smiled nervously.

"Are you sure…this is okay?" he asked hesitantly.

She simply nodded, and pushed open the door.

"Oh, Mon it's about time, I was about ready to lose it!" Rachel exclaimed as Monica and Chandler walked into the apartment, "I—oh, I didn't—" Rachel stuttered, as her gaze fell onto Chandler.

"Rachel, this is Chandler," Monica said slowly, then looked at Chandler, who was frozen in place near the door.

"Oh!  I…wow, it's so nice to finally meet you!" Rachel gushed, as she grabbed and hugged a very-shocked Chandler, "Okay Mon, I'm…gonna go over to Joey's…the kids are sleeping…finally, so if you need me…well, you know…" Rachel stammered hurriedly as she walked out of the apartment, shooting Monica a knowing glance before shutting the door behind her.

"Sorry about Rachel," Monica laughed uncomfortably.

"Is that…Ross' _girlfriend_, Rachel?" Chandler asked softly.

"She _was_…ugh, it's a long story.  Please Chandler, sit down," Monica urged.

Chandler took a small step inside, but continued to stand stiffly next to the kitchen table.

"This is a really nice place," Chandler said quietly, his eyes scanning the apartment for the first time

"It was my grandmother's," Monica smiled, "Wh-where do you live?  How long have you been back?"

"A while, I guess…I was staying with some…friends for a while…then I found a room at this place not far from her…it's small and cheap," Chandler laughed uncomfortably, as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

"Oh," Monica nodded slowly.

"I tried to find you…after…but your parents said—"

"I haven't spoken to my parents in years," Monica interrupted sharply.

"Oh.  I'm sorry, I—"

"No, it's okay, I'm sorry…it's just…they don't even want to meet Jake, and I—"

"Jake?" Chandler furrowed his brow, then watched as Monica's face paled considerably.

Monica suddenly felt dizzy, and she swayed slightly, prompting Chandler to take a few steps toward her.  She looked up at him, but found that she couldn't meet his eyes.

And then, fate intervened.

"Mommy?" Jake stood in the doorway of his room, his light brown hair ruffled, his eyes weary and red.  He blinked several times, then rubbed his sleepy eyes again.

Monica whipped around at the sound of Jake's voice, as Chandler stood wide-eyed behind her.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Monica asked softly, as she crossed the room to comfort her son.

"Jonathan is _snowing_," Jake whined, and extended his arms toward Monica.

"Oh, come here," Monica laughed, and heaved Jake into her arms, "Oh honey, I can barely pick you up anymore!  Is Jonathan's snoring really that bad?" Monica asked.  Off of Jake's nod she laughed, "Okay, you can sleep in my room—but just for tonight."

"Who is _he_?" Jake pointed directly at Chandler.

"Jake, it's not nice to point," Monica scolded lightly, "this is my friend, Chandler."

Jake studied Chandler for a moment, then yawned and plopped his head onto Monica's shoulder.  

Chandler smiled uncomfortably, and watched as Monica carried Jake into her bedroom.  A few minutes later she re-emerged, looking down at the floor as she crossed the room again.

"So…that's Jake," Monica laughed uncomfortably, as she approached Chandler.

"He's…your son?"

"Yeah," Monica smiled.

"But you're not—"

"Married?  No," Monica shook her head.

Chandler nodded, then looked down at Monica.  He placed his index finger under her chin, and pulled her face upward.

"Then…can I…can I kiss you?" he whispered softly, hesitantly.

Monica smiled, and nodded slightly, before closing her eyes and moving toward him slowly.

He moved toward her, his eyes never leaving her face.  She was as breathtaking now as she was the day he met her.  Moments before their lips met, he closed his eyes, and let his lips brush hers lightly, before capturing them fully in a kiss he had longed for for far too long.

She responded immediately, moving her body into his, wrapping her arms around his neck, melting into his body once more.  It was as wonderful as she remembered; yet it was better than it had ever been.  She found herself trembling slightly, her nerves and emotions overwhelming her.  His arms tightened around her possessively, and she suddenly felt like the entire world was spinning out of control.

It ended as abruptly as it had begun.  He pulled away slightly, his eyes gauging her reaction closely.  She refused to let him go—her arms remained firmly around his neck, as she stared up at him dreamily.

"I finally found you," she whispered softly, her eyes welling with tears, "You're finally home."

Chandler started slightly at her words, as a rush of blood warmed his face.  Home.  He hadn't felt at home since his return, but here…in her arms…he felt more at home than he had in a long, long time.

He knew there was so much they needed to talk about.  He wanted to know about her life…about Jake, and about all she had been through.  He wondered why Jake's father wasn't around, and why Monica was estranged from her family.  He wanted to ask, to find out everything, but he couldn't seem to find the words.

The moment was too precious, too wonderful, and he wasn't ready to let it go just yet.

So he held her silently, his eyes exploring hers, his mind whirling and his heart racing.  

He didn't want to ponder the possibility that once she knew more about the person he'd become, she would walk away.

So instead, he pulled her close, and kissed her once more.

He was home.

She watched him watch her, as the stood in the center of her apartment, locked in a tight embrace.  Her mind was reeling—should she tell him about Jake?  Should she tell him the truth so soon?  What if he walked away?

But she was caught up in the moment, and decided that it could wait.  After all, they had just found each other again—they had plenty of time.

He leaned in, and kissed her again, and she let her worries melt away.

There was plenty of time for explanations…for stories and revelations.  Tomorrow was a new day…tonight…all she needed was him.

.

**AN: Oye.  That was probably the hardest chapter to write…ever.  I know it may not be what everyone wanted, but I am afraid if I play with it anymore, it'll just get worse.  Is this damn story finished yet??  Aaaaah!**


	31. Chapter Thirty: The Last Song

**AN: It's done!  It's finished!  I finally finished this damn thing!!  Ugh.**

**Can I retire now? lol.**

_._

_The Age of Aquarius_

_Chapter Thirty: The Last Song_

_Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter_

_Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here_

_Here comes the sun, here comes the sun_

_And I say it's all right_

_._

Hovering in the blissful state between wake and dreams, Chandler could feel the warm caress of early morning sun lining his exposed cheek.  Groaning slightly, he turned his head, only to be met with an onslaught of the sun's intense rays.  

He squinted, and rubbed his weary eyes with the heels of his hands, as he was reluctantly pulled into consciousness.

It was then that he became acutely aware of his surroundings: he was on a couch.  He was on Her couch, in Her apartment, wrapped in Her blanket, which happened to hold Her unmistakable, unique scent.

He'd recognize that smell anywhere.

He inhaled deeply, and smiled contently, as he allowed himself a moment to recall the previous night:

Her voice, carried by the winter winds, sending him into a state of near-shock; her silent invitation, at the very moment that he felt anger and jealously slide through him, when he still believed that she had moved on; his relief upon hearing that she was in fact, not married; his shock at the sight of her son, a tiny replica of her, with dark hair and intense azure eyes; and his absolute bliss when her lips finally met his.

They kissed, and talked, but mostly, they held each other, both still unsure that what they were experiencing was real.  He explored her face with his hands, and his eyes, while she traced the various scars that covered his face, hands and arms.  Both longed for more, but knew that they would have to wait a bit longer—there was still too much that had been left unsaid.  Eventually, the sun began it's ascent, and she reluctantly admitted that she needed to get at least a few hours of sleep, or Jake would driver her mad in the morning.  She offered her couch, when it became evident that the snowstorm had become an unwieldy blizzard.  He'd agreed, more out of a need to keep her near to him, than out of concern surrounding the storm's hazards.

.

Chandler sighed, and sat up slowly, and noted that he was alone in the room.  The apartment was so quiet, in fact, that he started when the bathroom door opened, and Monica emerged, her hair wrapped in a deep red towel, her body wrapped in a blue cotton robe.

"You're awake," she smiled brightly, her eyes glistening.

"Just barely," he smiled in return, "been up long?"

"Long enough to know that you mumble incoherently in your sleep," Monica grinned wryly, "I don't remember you doing that _before_." 

Chandler's smile faded, and his eyes suddenly became distant.

"Yeah," he mumbled absently, as he looked down at the blanket that still half-covered his legs.

Monica's brow furrowed, and she hesitantly took a step toward him.

"Are you okay?  Did I say something wrong?" she asked, concern lining her voice.

Chandler looked up suddenly; the murkiness that had once lined his eyes nearly vanished.

"No, no—I was just…thinking, I guess."

"About?" Monica circled the couch, and plopped down next to him.

"Us.  I mean…I want this…I want you…but—it's not like it was…_before_."

Monica smiled, and Chandler felt a wave of relief sweep over him.

"Of course it's not.  I know that.  We've both…changed.  But I still love you," she whispered the final sentence reverently, and her eyes welled up with tears.

"I love you too," Chandler smiled softly, and kissed Monica tenderly on the lips.

"We have a lot to talk about," Monica swallowed hard, knowing that her revelations could change everything.

Before she had a chance to speak, the door opened, and Rachel walked in, humming softly to herself.

"Oh, hey you two," Rachel smiled wryly, and Monica's cheeks flushed.

"Rach, um, Jonathan's still sleeping…"

"That's fine, I just came to grab some food," Rachel said quickly, "but I can go out—"

"Don't be silly," Monica sighed, but as she stood up she shot Chandler an apologetic glance, "I'll pull something together.  Jake will be up soon anyway." Monica walked toward the kitchen, and after a moment of tense indecision, Chandler stood and followed her.  He nodded a silent greeting to Rachel, and plopped down into one of the pale wooden chairs at the table.

"Um, Chandler, I told Joey you were here last night," Rachel said, her mouth turned down slightly, "I thought he'd be happy, but—"

"He wasn't," Chandler nodded and studied the table.  Monica turned to look at him, but when he wouldn't look at her, she turned to Rachel.

"Why wouldn't he be happy?" 

"He wouldn't say," Rachel shrugged, then looked back at Chandler, "maybe you should talk to him?"

Chandler nodded, but kept his eyes on the table in front of him.

"Chandler, what's going on?" Monica asked, as she sat down on a chair next to him.

He looked up finally, his face a blank slate.

"I don't know."

Monica bit her lip and looked up at Rachel, both of them wondering what could have possibly happened to tear the friends apart.  Monica looked back at Chandler, and placed a supportive hand on his forearm.

"Honey, maybe you should talk to him.  Find out what's going on?"

"He's awake, and right across the hall.  The door's open," Rachel added.

Chandler nodded, and sighed deeply, before standing and making his way toward the door.  He stole one last look at Monica, before disappearing into the hallway.  Monica shivered, the look of hopelessness that Chandler carried startling her.

She was suddenly beginning to realize the gravity of Chandler's words.  He _had_ changed.  They'd all changed.  And if time and distance could tear apart a friendship, did _they_ really stand a chance?

"Mon?  You okay?" Rachel's voice cut through her reverie.

"Hmm?  Yeah, I was just…thinking." A moment of silence followed, broken only when Monica spoke again.

"Rach, do you think you would have married Ross…if he hadn't gone to war?"

Rachel looked up at Monica, and bit her lip as she pondered her reply.

"Probably…I mean, most likely, yes.  I never stopped loving Ross.  I still love him—I mean, a part of me still loves him.  But when I thought he was…while he was gone, I…I guess I changed.  I began to see things in a different light.  I know that Ross would do anything to make me happy, but I also know that now, after all that's happened, no one but Joey could give me what I need."

Monica nodded, and studied her hands, as she fumbled with a dishrag nervously.

"Chandler…is different.  He's…sadder, and…more subdued, I guess.  But I look at him, and I feel…whole.  I feel like I've been drifting, and now…now I've been found.  It's like we hardly know each other, yet…I can't imagine _not_ being with him.  Is that crazy?" Monica looked up at Rachel, a river of tears running down her flushed cheeks.

"No, honey, it's not crazy.  I saw the way he looked at you, and I know that he feels the same—it'll take time—but you will find each other again."

Monica nodded.

"I haven't told him about Jake yet.  He may not want me—us when he finds out."

"Perhaps.  But Monica, we've done okay, on our own, for so long.  You'll be okay.  No matter what happens, everything will be okay."

Monica sighed, and stood up, busying herself with breakfast preparations.  Rachel stood, and pulled her into a deep hug.

"We'll get through this, Mon."

Monica closed her eyes, and let herself believe that to be true.

~**~

Chandler stood in the darkened hallway, his eyes focused on the brass numbers that were nailed to the door in front of him.

He felt his insides roll with anticipation—memories of his last encounter with Joey floating uneasily through his head.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Chandler knocked on the door.

"It's open," came a muffled reply.

Chandler turned the knob and pushed the door open, before slowly walking into the apartment.

Joey looked up as the door opened, his expression darkening slightly as Chandler entered.

"Hey, Joe," Chandler smiled uneasily, "can we, uh…can we talk?"

"I guess," Joey shrugged noncommittally, and wheeled toward the kitchen.

Chandler walked fully into the apartment, and closed the door softly behind him.  He hesitated slightly before turning back to Joey, his mind trying desperately to reach for some way to break the ice.

When he finally turned to face Joey, he found his (former?) friend staring at him darkly, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

"So…you and Rachel, huh?" Chandler smiled slightly.

"Yeah," Joey nodded, and for a moment, Chandler caught a glimpse of the happiness that Joey was fighting hard to conceal.  Silence filled the room again, and Chandler cleared his throat and stared at his shoes, his hands now shoved firmly in his pockets.

"Did you come over to ask me about Rachel?" Joey asked slowly.

"N-no…I…Joey, I just…I don't know what happened, to make you hate me so much, and I know that after I was found, I couldn't recall a lot of my time over there, so I thought maybe something happened, and maybe I'm still missing some memories—" Realizing suddenly that he was rambling, Chandler paused and looked down at Joey pleadingly.

Joey sighed heavily and shook his head.

"I don't hate you, Chandler.  Not really.  Not anymore," Joey replied softly, his voice filled with exhaustion.

"But you did…what did I do?" Chandler approached Joey's chair, before falling to his knees next to him, "you're my best friend, man.  You have to tell me what I can do to fix this."

"I hated you for saving me," Joey blurted, then fell silent, as his cheeks flushed slightly.

"What?" Chandler's brow furrowed.

"You…pulled me out of that…place, and then I had to sit in some disease-infested hospital for weeks, before being shipped back here, to spend the rest of my life in this _damn thing_," Joey hit his chair angrily.

"All I wanted was to die.  At least then I'd be some kind of hero, instead of a freak who fought in this war everyone detests now.  I hate the way people look at me now, and I hate living like this…and I guess I thought that if you'd just…fucking _left me there_…I would've been better off, ya know?"

Chandler nodded silently, his head bowed and his hands sitting lifelessly in his lap.

"But then…I dunno, things got better.  Rachel—" Joey smiled slightly, as he spoke of his girlfriend, "Rachel came into my life, and…things started looking up.  And I guess some of that anger went away.  But then I saw you, and you looked at me that way everyone does, and I just—"

"I'm sorry for that Joe—and I'm sorry that you lost your leg," Chandler looked up at Joey, his eyes fierce, "but I'm _not_ going to apologize for saving your life.  Maybe it was selfish of me, but I wasn't about to let you rot in that…prison," Chandler pulled himself up, and walked across the room, his hands running through his hair.  "If you're gonna hate me for that, there's nothing I can do.  I just—I can't say that I'm sorry for pulling you out of there.  I won't."

Joey wheeled toward Chandler, an indecipherable look on his face.

"I don't want you to," Joey smiled, and extended his hand, "if it weren't for you, I woulda never met Rachel."

Chandler smiled, and took Joey's hand.  Joey pulled Chandler toward him, and they hugged tightly.

"You hungry?  Monica's cooking," Chandler smiled.

"Hell yeah," Joey grinned, "So you two are back together, huh?"

Chandler's smile faded slightly, and he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm, uh, not sure yet.  I mean, we still have a lot to work out—"

"Whatever man," Joey shook his head as the two men headed toward the door; "You were ridiculously hung up on her in Vietnam.  And I've heard her talking about you, too.  You'll be fine."

"I hope so," Chandler muttered, as he and Joey crossed the hall and entered Monica's apartment.

Monica, Rachel, Jonathan and Jake were seated around the table, and all four looked up as Chandler and Joey entered.

"Hey, you guy worked everything out?" Monica grinned, and stood to kiss Chandler briefly.

"Yeah," both men acknowledged, as Chandler sat down, and Joey wheeled up to the table.

"So now that everything is okay, maybe we can all hang out together." Rachel smiled.

Joey nodded, and Monica and Chandler exchanged a short look, before nodding slightly.

Rachel noted the hesitation, and shook her head slightly, before standing and pulling Jonathan out of his highchair.

"I'm gonna take Jonathan back over to Ross'," Rachel announced and looked over at Monica pointedly, "I'll be out _all day_."

Monica smiled at Rachel, and mouthed a silent 'thank you' as Rachel began gathering Jonathan's bags.

"Joey, why don't you come with me," Rachel added.

"But I'm _hungry_, babe!" Joey whined.

"We'll stop by the deli on the way to Ross'," Rachel replied sternly, "Let's go."

"Fine," Joey grumbled, and followed Rachel and Jonathan out of the apartment, "See you guys," he said, as he closed the door softly behind him.

"Alone at last," Monica smiled nervously, then looked at Jake, "Honey, why don't you go wash your hands," she instructed softly.

Jake tore his eyes away from Chandler, and looked up at his mother, "Kay," he grumbled, and scrambled into the bathroom.

Chandler watched the child run off, a small smile on his face.

"He looks just like you, Mon."

Monica said nothing; she kept her eyes on the table, her hands wringing nervously in front of her.

"Mon?" Chandler turned to her, "what's wrong?"

Monica looked up, and took a deep breath.

"He's yours."

He stared at her, for an immeasurable amount of time, his jaw loose and his eyes wide.  Had he heard her right?  Jake was _his son_?  His mind was reeling.  Of course, the timing was right—and Monica had made it clear that she still loved him…that she hadn't really moved on.  Jake came traipsing out of the bathroom, and Chandler turned to look at him.

And it was as though he was looking at Jake for the first time.

The child looked up at Chandler, and in that instant, he _knew_…and he realized that somewhere, deep down, he'd known the moment he'd seen him.

While it was true that Jake bore an unmistakable resemblance to his mother, there was no doubt that this child was his—it wasn't Monica's eyes he found himself looking into—it was his own.

"Are you…okay?" Monica asked softly.  Chandler turned to look at her, and for the first time since their reunion, she saw _him_—his eyes were filled with emotion—with shock and…elation?  Tears lined his eyes, and tumbled out onto his cheek as he nodded vehemently.

She watched, as he turned to look at Jake again.  He stood up, and approached the four-year old cautiously, before crouching down in front of him.

"Hey Jake…H-how are you?"

"Fine…are you my mom's friend?"

"Yes, I am…is that okay?"

Jake shrugged.

"Do you like baseball?"

Jake shrugged again.

"Maybe you and I can…go to a game sometime?" Chandler smiled.

Jake smiled brightly and nodded, then dashed to his bedroom.  Chandler stood slowly, and turned to Monica.

"I hope that's okay," Chandler said softly, "me hanging out with him."

Monica grinned widely, stood up and approached Chandler, before wrapping her arms securely around his neck, "Of course it's okay.  He's your son too."

Chandler's smile faded, and he pulled away from Monica, sending a wave of panic through her.

"About that Mon…I want to be here for Jake…and for you…but—"

"But?" Monica felt her heart stop, and she stood, rooted to her spot, her hands clenched tightly.

"Before you let me…there are some things about me you should know."

"Okay," Monica relaxed slightly, but stayed frozen to her spot.

"When I was…over there…some things happened to me.  It's a long story, but I ended up lost, and injured, and…I was ready to die, ya know?  Then these people found me…and they helped me, and they let me stay with them, as long as I protected them from the Viet Cong.

"One day, this little boy walked into the village—he was not much older than Jake…" Chandler paused, and looked toward Jake's room, his eyes dark and heavy.  He started slightly, and looked back down at his hands.

"There was a bomb strapped to his torso…he was instructed to destroy the village.  I tried to get the bomb off of him…but there wasn't time…there wasn't any time…"

Monica walked toward Chandler, and took his hands in hers.  He looked up at her, and sighed deeply.

"I shot him.  I killed him.  He was so small…"

"Chandler—"

"It _haunts_ me, ya know?  And I wanted you to know, because I wanted you to understand—and if you don't want me around Jake, I understand that."

"Sweetie, what you did, you had to do—I understand that.  If you want to be Jake's father, I want you to be his father too."

"I do," Chandler smiled, and kissed Monica passionately, just as Jake emerged from his room.

"Chandler, I made this for you!" Jake ran toward Chandler, as he crouched to greet the child.  Jake handed him a piece of white paper, and smiled proudly.

On the paper, was an indecipherable drawing made of crayon—an orange circular object, next to a smaller, blue object.

"It's me and you," Jake said, pointed to each object.

Chandler nodded, then pulled Jake into a hug.

"I love it." 

~***~

"So, what do you think?"

"It's huge!" Phoebe said excitedly, "And look at the view!  This place is amazing, Mike, you should definitely take it," Phoebe wandered around the living room of the bare apartment, her eyes scanning the large picture windows and ornate crown molding, her heels clomping loudly on the hardwood floor.

"I'll take it…if you agree to move in with me," Mike smiled, and shoved his hands into his pockets nervously.

Phoebe spun around to face Mike, her eyes wide.

"Wh-what?"

"I want you to live here…with me."

Phoebe felt her heart race, and she nearly smiled…but her instincts kicked in, and her expression hardened.

"I don't need _charity_, Mike, I'm doing okay on my own."

Mike shook his head, and approached Phoebe, before taking her hands in his.

"Phoebe, it's not a hand out.  I just want to spend every minute of every day with you—that's not charity, that's pure _selfishness_, baby."

Phoebe's eyes softened, and she let out a short laugh.

"Ah, see, gotcha laughing," Mike pulled Phoebe into a hug.

"Okay fine, I'll move in," Phoebe's voice was muffled in Mike's shoulder, "but I'm only doing this for you."

"Great," Mike pulled away, and smiled at Phoebe, "I'm gonna go talk to the manager, if you wanna wander around _our_ apartment a little more."

"Okay," Phoebe giggled, and watched Mike run out of the room.  She sighed and shook her head, a wide grin plastered on her face.  She wandered back to one of the windows, and leaned against the frame heavily.

The window offered a spectacular view of Central Park, and the city that sprawled behind it.  It was hard to believe that she used to live down there, in a hovel of misery, wondering if she'd ever be as happy and carefree has she had been before the war.

Her mind wandered to Joey, and to Rachel and Monica. She wondered what they were doing now—were they still living in the Village?  She fought the urge to wander down to the Park to find out.  She thought about Chris, and all she had seen in San Francisco.  She'd felt something die in her the day Chris was killed, and she had been certain she would never recover from that.

She hadn't been looking for Mike, or even for happiness.  But Mike had given her back her hope, and for that, she would always love him.  It had taken time, but she slowly overcame her fear of losing him, her fear of losing everything again, because he told her that he was sure that they were meant to be together, and she'd believed it.  

She still believed it.

"You wanna go get some coffee or something?" Mike's voice broke through her reverie, and she turned to face him slowly.

"Sure," she smiled.

"I know this great little place by the Park…"

~**~

"Okay, I know you two are happy to be back together, but you aren't _sixteen_ anymore!" Rachel sighed.

"Yeah, seriously, you two; _get a room_!" Ross added with disdain.

Monica and Chandler pulled apart, and glared at their friends mockingly, before settling into the large orange sofa together.

"This place is groovy," Joey said, in an attempt to change the subject, "I never noticed it before."

"Yeah, it was a Beat bar, I don't know why they changed it," Rachel sighed.

"I'm kind of glad they did, there was nowhere to sit before they remodeled," Monica replied.

"Oh my God.  Monica…isn't that Phoebe?"

Monica turned, just as Phoebe noticed the group.

"Phoebe?" Monica stood, and approached her old friend warily.

"Monica, hey," Phoebe smiled uncomfortably.

"I can't believe it's you!" Monica pulled Phoebe into a hug, "Do you have any idea how worried we've been?"

Phoebe relaxed slightly, and retuned Monica's hug.

"You were?"

"Of course we were, silly!" Rachel added, as she approached, "Come sit with us, and introduce us to this handsome guy here!"

Phoebe smiled at Mike, and he nodded, and followed the women to their seats in the corner of the small shop.

"This is Mike Hannigan.  Mike, this is Monica, and Joey and Rachel and…_Chandler_!  Chandler, you're okay!" Phoebe jumped around the sofa and pulled Chandler into a hug.

"Hey, Pheebs," he said softly.

"Anyway, I'm Ross," Ross laughed, "Monica's brother.  And this is my girlfriend Becca."

"Becca!  Oh my God!  It's like a reunion!" Phoebe jumped from Chandler to Becca, and pulled her into a fierce hug.

"Who would have thought, after all this time, we'd end up here?" Monica shook her head, and looked up at Chandler lovingly.  Chandler scanned the excited group of people, his eyes falling on his son, who was busy trying to persuade Jonathan into playing with him on the rug.  He smiled, and looked back at Monica.

"At least we ended up somewhere," he sighed.

_Here comes the sun, here comes the sun_

_And I say it's all right_

_Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter_

_Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here_

_Here comes the sun, here comes the sun_

_And I say it's all right_

_Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces_

_Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here_

_Here comes the sun, here comes the sun_

_And I say it's all right_

_Sun, sun, sun, here it comes_

_Sun, sun, sun, here it comes_

_Sun, sun, sun, here it comes_

_Sun, sun, sun, here it comes_

_Sun, sun, sun, here it comes_

_Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting_

_Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear_

_Here comes the sun, here comes the sun_

_And I say it's all right_

_Here comes the sun, here comes the sun_

_It's all right, it's all right_

_("Here Come The Sun", by George Harrison)_

AN: Okay, the ending was ridiculously cheesy, but I was determined to make it all happy and crap.  There were one or two issues that I didn't directly resolve here—namely Chandler and his father and Monica and her parents.  If there is demand, and if I am so inspired, I may do one-pieces to deal with both.  I just can't write this thing anymore, oye.  That's it, I'm done!!!  Pleeeeease review!


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